Alfred Jones (and Others) and the Chamber of Secrets
by friendofthequn
Summary: America and Canada return to Hogwarts for their second year. England seems worried and has asked them to protect their friend, Harry Potter. But surely that's just England being paranoid, right? After the chaos of last year, this one should be a breeze! Right? ... Right? Rated T because I don't trust myself to write something completely kid-friendly.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE: A SPOT OF TEA**

Anyone who walked into England's house at about four o'clock on the first of August, 1992 would have found a rather odd sight. There were always odd sights, of course, if one was willing to see them; fairies and pixies flying through the halls freely, the ghost of a pirate floating about, a unicorn grazing on the lawn… But if these creatures knew someone was coming, they would usually hide, unless it was Norway or Romania, the other two thirds of the 'Magic Trio'. No, the odd sight was sitting in the living room, waiting patiently for his host to return with tea.

Even if you didn't know his eccentric reputation, you would probably be able to gather quite a bit from his appearance. He boasted a silver beard long enough to tuck into his belt, his hair being the same length. Twinkling pale blue eyes took in the world from behind half-moon glasses perched on a very crooked nose. He was wearing robes, of the kind you would expect to see in a fantasy larping session, though his were much more colourful than the usual plain black. You wouldn't be able to see it from here, but a matching cloak is hung on a coat-hanger near the door. He had an amiable expression and was humming to himself, not impatient at all.

England soon came in carrying tray laden with a teapot, two teacups, milk, sugar, teaspoons, and a plate of what were probably supposed to be scones. He set it down on the coffee table and poured out tea for both himself and his guest. "Milk and four sugars, right, Albus?" he asked.

The strange man, whose name was Albus Dumbledore, nodded. "Yes. I'm surprised you still remember, given how much you have on your mind."

England gave him a genuine smile that would have shocked his fellow nations. "I always have space in my memory for friends." They remained in a comfortable silence for about a minute while they drank their tea. England not very subtly nudged the plate of 'scones' towards Dumbledore, who steadfastly ignored them. He'd learned about England's lack of cooking skills the hard way, and the Healers at St. Mungo's had refused to believe he hadn't been intentionally poisoned.

Eventually Dumbledore said, "I do enjoy your company, England, but I am afraid this isn't purely a social call."

England sighed. "Of course. I was wondering when you'd get down to business. So what did you want to talk about?"

"Whether or not America and… Canada will be attending Hogwarts this year."

England absent-mindedly poured himself another cup of tea. "Hmm… I'm not quite sure. They'll probably be all for it – I've been having to act as the middle-man for all the letters they're exchanging with their friends. The Weasleys' poor owl wouldn't last the trip overseas. And it would be nice to have America out of the way for another year… I'll have to say it's not set in stone yet, but the chances are quite high."

Dumbledore smiled. "Excellent. If that's the case, our History of Magic teacher, Professor Binns, has been wanting to take a few years leave to travel, so I was wondering if you would like to replace him as-"

He didn't finish his sentence because England just barely avoided doing a spit-take and was now choking on his tea. Dumbledore took out his wand and flicked it towards the nation's throat. The tea made its way back into the correct pipe, allowing him to gasp, "W-what?! Th-the whole point of sending America there wa-was so that I _wouldn't _have to deal with him."

Dumbledore, who had remained unfazed by the whole choking thing, replied, "I have the feeling we are heading into dangerous times, England. I'm sure you have heard how Voldemort nearly returned to power at the end of last term. There is no doubt in my mind that he will try again, and again, and again. You know of the prophecy regarding him, yes?"

England nodded. "Yes, yes, 'neither can live while the other survives' and all that… it refers to Harry Potter, right?"

Dumbledore took a sip of tea and said, "I am curious as to how you learned of it, but now is not the time to pry. Yes, Harry Potter. He is the key to stopping Voldemort, and must be protected. Should the Dark Lord rise back to power, he would be our only hope of defeating him."

England stirred his tea. "I see… so you want me to teach at Hogwarts and be stuck in the same building as America for months at a time, in order to protect Harry?"

"I realize that you two have your… difficulties," said Dumbledore delicately. "But I do hope you will be able to overcome them."

England stared at the dregs of tea remaining in his cup. For a moment he almost wished he'd used tea leaves, so that he could get some sort of sign as to what he should do. On the one hand, Voldemort's return would be a very, very, _very _bad thing, so making sure Harry Potter was alive to stop him was a very, very, _very _important job. And it would be nice to return to Hogwarts. He remembered his time there fondly, for the most part. On the other hand, America would be there, and God knew he wouldn't leave England alone. And even through the film of nostalgia, England knew that there had definitely been some bad things about Hogwarts. Peeves was the first that sprang to mind. The poltergeist was pretty much BFFs with Scotland, and England's 'dear' big brother had made the spirit promise to make his little brother's life hell. So pretty much every time England visited Hogwarts he ended up running away being pelted by whatever small, preferably sharp, objects Peeves had managed to grab while screaming obscenities or singing mocking little songs, which England felt were actually worse. Oh, and speaking of Scotland, it was on his territory, so there was a pretty good chance he'd turn up and start ruining his life. And students aged eleven to seventeen were real brats, almost impossible to teach. Always talking during class or so busy making googly-eyes at each other they didn't hear a word the teacher was saying… The list of cons seemed to go on and on and on…

England sighed. "I think I'll have to pass, Albus, so long as you're not planning on housing any valuable magical artifacts at the school this year."

Dumbledore shook his head. "No. If all goes well, which it never does, this will be a perfectly normal school year. I'll just have to count on America and Canada to protect Harry."

England nearly rolled his eyes. _America is much more competent than you give him credit for, _he reminded himself. _Sure, he's a complete dolt, but he's strong, and that Granger girl seems clever, she can do all the thinking. Yes, Harry should be fine… Though now that I've thought that, America will probably break his neck while giving him a hug or something._

**A/N: Heeellloooooo, everyone, I am back! This is the sequel to Alfred Jones (and Others) and the Philosopher's Stone, so if you haven't read it, I suggest you take a look so that you understand everything and also so that it gets more views and my self-esteem gets a boost. If you have read it, thanks, and here is the sequel you guys seemed to want! HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ I'd like to thank 95Jezzica for the idea to make Iggy a professor. I'm not going to use it for this book, since I think at this point the cons would outweigh the pros for England, but it gave me a few new ideas, so thank you! Here's a hug just for you \(^-^)/ NEXT CHAPTER: Harry gets some letters. See you all next time!**


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1: AMERICAN RAGE**

Life at the Burrow, Harry found, was full of surprises. The biggest and nastiest one arrived a few days into his stay, when a strange owl flew in through the open window during breakfast and landed in front of Harry. Ron seemed to brighten up when he saw it. "Oh, looks like Alfred sent-" He stopped mid-sentence, and all of the Weasleys stared in mute horror at the red envelope the owl carried.

Harry looked at them in confusion. "What? What's wrong?"

"That's a Howler, that is," said George.

"If you want us, we'll be in our room," said Fred. The twins grabbed their plates, got up and almost ran to the stairs.

Harry frowned. "What's a Howler?" He gave the envelope another look. It seemed to be smoking slightly.

Mrs. Weasley said, "Just open it quickly, dear. It'll be better that way."

Still feeling very confused, Harry picked up the smoking letter and opened it. The Weasleys all covered their ears, and he quickly understood why. A familiar, already loud voice magnified by about a hundred times boomed from the letter. "YO, HARRY, WHY THE HELL AREN'T YOU ANSWERING MY LETTERS, DUDE?! I'VE WRITTEN, LIKE, SIXTEEN! ARE YOU MAD AT ME BECAUSE I WASN'T ABLE TO BEAT THE TURBAN-SQUIRRELL? I KNOW THAT KINDA SUCKED, BUT THAT IS A TOTALLY BAD REASON NOT TO BE FRIENDS ANYMORE! IF I SAY YOU'RE A HERO, WILL YOU WRITE ME BACK? YOU'RE TOTALLY A HERO, DUDE, JUST STOP IGNORING ME! I KNOW THAT YOU CAN'T IGNORE THIS ONE, IGGY SENT ME A HOWLER ONCE, SO I KNOW HOW THEY WORK! IF YOU DON'T WRITE ME BACK, I'M COMING OVER THERE AND FINDING YOU! WHAT? OH, HOLD ON, MATTIE WANTS TO SAY SOMETHING, TOO."

Another familiar voice came on, one that really didn't suit the loudness of the Howler. "HELLO, HARRY. I'M SORRY ABOUT ALFRED. HE'S NOT USED TO BEING IGNORED, AND HE'S NOT DEALING WITH IT VERY WELL, EH. I'M SURE YOU HAVE YOUR REASONS FOR NOT RESPONDING TO ANY OF OUR LETTERS, BUT IT WOULD BE NICE TO HEAR FROM YOU. RON AND HERMIONE HAVE BEEN ANSWERING BACK, SO I KNOW THAT THE LETTERS SHOULD BE ARRIVING. ARE YOU FEELING OKAY? IF YOU'RE SICK OR HAVE A BROKEN ARM OR SOMETHING AND CAN'T WRITE, THAT'S OKAY. I'LL TRY TO TALK ALFRED DOWN, EH. SEE YOU AT HOGWARTS, THEN!"

Alfred's voice returned. "YEAH, I'M NOT WAITING UNTIL START OF TERM, DUDE. WRITE BACK, OR I WILL FIND YOU. LATERS!" Harry let out a small yelp and quickly dropped the Howler as it burst into flames and vanished. Everyone at the table remained in a stunned silence while they waited for their hearing to come back.

Fred and George came back down the stairs. "Boy, Alfred can shout, can't he?" said Fred brightly, breaking the silence.

George handed Harry a quill and a roll of parchment. "Reading between the lines, I think he wants you to write back," he said.

Ron nodded in agreement. "You should probably do it as soon as possible. They're spending the summer overseas, so getting the letters to them is a bit tricky."

Harry looked down at the blank parchment. They were probably right. From the few Hollywood action movies he'd seen (usually by sneaking into the room when Dudley was watching one), the phrase 'I will find you' was usually synonymous with 'I will kill you'. He dipped the quill in an inkpot George provided and began writing.

_Dear Alfred and Matthew,_

_ I'm sorry I haven't written back. A mad house-elf was intercepting all of my mail, and I couldn't send anything because the Dursleys locked Hedwig up. I'm staying at the Weasleys' now, so that's all cleared up. There's no need to come over. I'm feeling fine – much better, actually, now that I know you all wanted to stay in contact. I was worried you'd all forgotten me._

_ Ron says you're staying overseas for the summer. What's that like? You must have a lot of stories. Make sure to tell me all about it! Please don't send another Howler, though, I don't think my eardrums could take it._

_ Can't wait to see you guys again,_

_ Harry._

Feeling pleased with the letter, Harry folded it, put it in an envelope (again provided by George, he seemed to really not want to have to deal with another Howler), and gave it to the owl. It gave a hoot and flew back out the window. Everyone returned to their breakfast, secure in the knowledge that they wouldn't be interrupted by angry Americans again.

*time skip, Harry receives Hermione's letter*

Reading the letter made Harry think of something. "Hey, how do you think Alfred and Matthew are going to get their supplies?" he asked no one in particular. "They're not even in Britain right now, right?"

"Mr. Kirkland's still here," said Ron. "He's the one ferrying all the letters between us and them. I guess he'll get them?"

Mrs. Weasley let out a disapproving _tut_ sound. "I don't know _what_ he thinks he's doing, leaving two twelve-year-old boys alone in a strange country."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You've heard them talk, right? Judging from their accent, it's not a strange country."

That made Harry think of another thing. "Which country are they from, anyway? The United States or Canada?"

Ron frowned. "I… don't know. They never said. Alfred seems like he's American, right? But I'm pretty sure Matthew's accent is more Canadian…"

"How is that even possible?" asked Harry. "Brothers don't usually have different accents. And it's not like their family moved after one picked up their original country's accent but before the other one did, they're twins. And Mr. Kirkland took them in when they were pretty young, if they don't even remember their parents, so how is it that they still have those accents?" Now that he thought about it, there seemed to be a lot of strange things about the Joneses. How was it that Matthew had managed to bring a talking polar bear along and nobody seemed to notice? Maybe it was because he could be so very forgettable, almost supernaturally so. Matthew was soft-spoken, sure, but _nobody _was that naturally overlooked. As for Alfred, how was he so strong and durable? When Neville landed on him during Flying Lessons, he hadn't gotten a scratch. During that fight with the troll, he'd thrown a pipe so hard it actually got stuck in the creature's side, and he hadn't looked the slightest bit afraid even when it was charging at him. And then, during the whole Philosopher's Stone incident, he'd easily kicked open a door that Harrry, Ron and Hermione combined couldn't force open. And then he'd walked unscathed through the black flames without drinking any potion… and then he'd punched Quirrell with enough force to send him flying… and then he'd survived a curse that should have been complete overkill… Yes, there was definitely something odd going on with the Joneses.

Then he mentally kicked himself. Why was he being suspicious of two of his best friends? He knew that they were good people – sure, Alfred was a bit full of himself and could be an idiot, but he definitely believed in heroes and justice and the triumph of good and all that, and Matthew was probably the single nicest person Harry had ever encountered. Alfred had probably just drunk a super-strength potion or something in preparation for finding the Stone, and as for Matthew, well, who wouldn't feel a bit ignored when they had to grow up with someone as loud and attention-seeking as Alfred as a twin brother? Harry resolved to pay more attention to Matthew, though that would probably be easier to think than do. The guy hadn't even needed Harry's invisibility cloak in order to remain hidden when they snuck out to that third floor corridor.

Thought happens quite a bit faster than words, however, so all that thought took only a few moments. He realized that everyone was waiting for him to finish his thought. He mentally scrabbled for a moment to remember what he'd been saying, then said, "Oh, never mind, I'm sure it's nothing." The conversation turned to what they'd be doing that day, and by the time he started practise Quidditch with Ron, Fred and George he had almost completely forgotten his suspicions. Almost.

**A/N: Oh noes, Harry's getting suspicious! And I finally included a Howler scene! How does America know how to create a Howler, you don't ask? England got drunk and taught him. I think that will be my explanation for anything magical America does that he wasn't taught at school. Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! I'm glad you're glad I'm doing the sequel! HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ This batch of reviews had two questions in them, so I'll just answer them here, shall I? Insufferable Proximity wanted to know if I was an USUK shipper. I can certainly see why someone might ship the two, but I personally don't. I see it as more of a brotherly relationship, and I'm a sucker for that kind of thing. It's why I always squeal whenever Prussia and Germany appear together in a strip. And a guest fittingly enough called Guests wanted to know if I'm doing another sequel. I'm probably going to regret it, but I'm planning on doing all seven books! I apologize in advance to my future self. NEXT CHAPTER: England does some shopping. See you all next time!**


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2: NOCTURNE**

Even if he'd turned down the job, England knew that Albus was right; dark times were coming. Voldemort had far more flaws than virtues, but one of the few he possessed was determination. He would never give up something as important as regaining his own body after one failed attempt. Knowing him, he'd probably blame it all on Quirrell and try to find a worthier servant. Really, that man (if he could still really be called a man) was the most narcissistic being England had ever encountered, and that list included Prussia.

So, he was preparing. He'd been rather lax about the whole magic thing over the last twelve years, and most of his best weapons were in a rather bad state of disrepair. Many of them were beyond the ken of mortals and would require Norway and Romania's help to fix, but there were a few that could be fixed by wizard specialists. And since the nature of those objects would most likely get him sent to Azkaban just for possessing them, there was only one place to go.

Mr. Borgin looked up from a very thick, very dusty, very menacing-looking book when the bell at the door tinkled. He closed the book and put on a large, at least partially genuine smile. "Ah, Mr. Kirkland, so nice to see you again. I must say, you are looking as well as ever. Are you here to buy today?"

England shook his head. The nice thing about Knockturn Alley, he'd found, was that no one asked questions about why he never seemed to age. He was pretty sure most of them assumed he'd discovered some very Dark Art that allowed him to maintain the appearance of youth. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Borgin. I have certain… objects… that require repairing."

Mr. Borgin's smile became just the slightest bit more genuine as England slid a list over the counter. He always liked business that ended with him getting richer. He put a pair of glasses on his nose and began reading it. "Hmm… yes, I can see why you would have brought this to me… some of these items are rather… suspicious." His eyes paused over the last item on the list. "Busby's Chair?"

England nodded. "Yes. It's been broken for about fifty years. Someone tried to fix it with Spellotape, believe it or not." There were two reasons England didn't admit he'd been the one to do so; One, it had been fifty years ago, and he didn't want to bring too much attention to his inexplicable youth. Two, it had been a really stupid idea and he wanted to distance himself from it.

Mr. Borgin shook his head in disgust. "A priceless, ancient Dark artifact and they try to fix it with _Spellotape._ From what I've heard of it, it's supposed to be extremely resilient. How exactly did it get broken?"

"It encountered something far, _far _more evil and dark than itself and couldn't take it." It was close enough to the truth. The man wouldn't believe someone sat in it and it exploded, now was he? Damn that Russia…

Mr. Borgin folded up the list and slipped it into his pocket. "I'm sure you realize how extremely rare most of these items are – some, like the chair, are one of a kind. I'll have to do some research, but I'm sure I'll be able to repair them. For the right price, of course."

England tried not to visibly grit his teeth. His savings would probably receive quite the dent from this, but he'd learned the hard way how impossible it was to bargain with Mr. Borgin. "Of course. I'll send them to you next week, then?"

Mr. Borgin nodded. "Yes, yes, that should be fine. I'll send a letter – and the final cost – when the repairs are done."

England bid his farewells to Mr. Borgin and left the shop. Well, that was one load off his mind. He started slowly making his way towards Diagon Alley. While he was here, he needed to pick up America' and that other one's school supplies. Before that, however, he'd replenish his stock of potion ingredients and spell components that you'd never find in Diagon Alley, as well as catch up on recent gossip. The latter goal was rather hit-and-miss. The younger witches and wizards or those who had obviously started frequenting this place only recently were suspicious and close-mouthed. The older ones, however, greeted him like an old friend and were happy to talk. He'd been an institution of the place back in the day. From them, he learned that the Ministry had been performing more raids recently, and Mr. Borgin was facing a deluge of ex-Death Eaters trying to sell any incriminating objects. Many of the people he talked to had heard some version of the events at Hogwarts at the end of the last term. As an elderly witch babbled to him about how an apparition of Voldemort had risen from the dust that was all that remained of Quirrell and tried to kill Harry, England marvelled at how vastly different truth and rumour could be.

Most worryingly of all, he heard rumours that something big was happening at Hogwarts this year. England would have put it down to the events of last year, but there were too many people saying it, and they seemed too confident. Maybe he should have taken that job… then he imagined trying to teach a class of twelve-year-old Gryffindors that included America and any doubt in his decision vanished.

He was just talking with an aged witch selling human fingernails when she leaned over to a black-haired boy who looked far too young to be here without supervision and hissed, "Not lost are you, my dear?"

England was just about to chastise her for being unnecessarily creepy when the boy whirled around and started backing away. Brilliant green eyes looked at the world behind broken glasses, and the messy black hair didn't quite cover the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. He was covered in soot and looked very lost and frightened. "I'm fine, thanks," he said. "I'm just-"

England stepped toward him, trying to seem just the right mix of stern and unintimidating. He didn't want to scare him off, but the kid seemed like he needed an adult at the moment. "Harry? Is that you? What are you doing here?"

Harry Potter – for it was undoubtedly him – blinked at him once, then seemed to almost crumple with relief. "Mr. Kirkland! I was lost… Floo powder…"

Ah. That explained it. Having been raised by Muggles, he'd probably never used Floo powder before and gotten lost. "Well, at least you didn't get too far from your destination." He placed a firm hand on Harry's shoulder and said to the witch, "My apologies, Griselda, but I need to escort this boy to Diagon Alley. We'll have to catch up some other time."

The witch waved. "All right, Arthur. See you again soon!" With a cackle she wandered away.

It was a short walk to Diagon Alley, thankfully. Once they were in the sunlight England gave Harry a good look. He was looking a bit pale, and he was still covered in soot, but he didn't seem to be injured at all. He was looking much calmer now that he was in familiar territory. England released his grip on the boy's shoulder and brushed some soot off. "You look quite the mess, but I'm sure you'll be fine. For future reference, you should really stay out of Knockturn Alley. It's not a place for someone like you." Yes, considering the number of Voldemort supporters skulking about the place Harry was lucky to be unhurt.

"I realised _that_," said Harry. Now that he'd calmed down a bit, it seemed he'd regained his powers of sarcasm. "I told you, I was lost – what were you doing down there, anyway?"

England tried not to look guilty. "Just catching up with some old friends." He quickly changed the subject. "You didn't come here on your own, surely."

"I'm staying with the Weasleys, but we got separated," Harry explained. England could tell from his tone that he'd noticed the sudden change in subject. "I've got to go and find them…"

"Well, I'm certainly not leaving you unsupervised after that little incident," said England. "Let's go." They set off together down the street.

"So, how are Alfred and… er… Matthew?" asked Harry. "They're on their own right now, right?"

Oh, yes. This. England would have to try and seem like an at least somewhat responsible guardian, but he didn't want to outright lie, either. This kid was too curious for his own good. "They can take care of themselves," he said. "And if they need help, they have people they can ask." It was close enough to the truth.

Harry didn't seem entirely reassured. "And you're fine leaving them on their own? You don't miss them at all?"

Tch, this kid didn't know when to give up, did he? Maybe England should have left him to find the Weasleys on his own. "As I said, they can take care of themselves. If I ever feel the need to talk to them," _Which I almost never do, _he thought to himself, but saying that aloud would make him sound like a truly horrible caretaker. "They're just a phone-call away. Phones are much more convenient than letters, don't you find?"

Harry nodded. "It is much faster, and you don't have to worry about it getting intercepted by mad house-elves."

"Alfred mentioned something about that. Care to tell me the whole story?"

And so Harry told him all about how Dobby the house-elf had stopped all his mail in order to try and get him to stop going to Hogwarts. Two things about the story disturbed England. One, if even a house-elf was thinking something was going to happen at Hogwarts this year, Harry was in deep trouble. Two, the Dursleys seemed to be some of the worst caretakers England had ever heard of. Really, locking their nephew in his room, only letting him out to use the bathroom, and just barely giving him enough food to live? By comparison, England, America and Canada must look like the perfect family unit.

When he finished the story Harry scratched his nose, which brought England's attention to his broken glasses. "I can fix those," he said, pointing to them. Harry handed them over, and with a tap from his wand (his proper wizarding one, not the one with a star on the end) they were repaired. He handed them back and Harry put them on, blinking a few times as he obviously got used to being able to see properly again.

"Thank you," he said.

England didn't get the chance to say 'You're welcome', because a young female voice called out, "Harry! Harry! Over here!"

They both looked towards the source and found it in a young girl with extremely bushy brown hair standing at the top of the white steps to Gringotts, waving at them. England recognized her as Hermione Granger, the brightest witch in her year, and perhaps the whole of the student body of Hogwarts. She ran over to them and started speaking rapidly. "Where did all that soot come from? Hello, Mr. Kirkland… Oh, it's _wonderful_ to see you again, Harry… Are you two coming into Gringotts?"

"As soon as I've found the Weasleys," said Harry.

Spotting a small red-haired horde advancing towards them, England said, "I doubt you'll have to wait long." Harry and Hermione looked around and spotted them as well.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley panted. "We _hoped _you'd only gone one grate too far…" He mopped his glistening bald patch. "Molly's frantic – she's coming now."

England took a step away from the group and said to Harry, "Well, since you seem to have found your chaperones, I'll take my leave. Take care, Harry." He walked into the crowd, hoping very much that he'd completely disappeared into it. He'd never admit it aloud, but England always liked to make a dramatic exit.

**A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ I can't really think of anything to say about this chapter, so I'll just answer questions in reviews! There are two this time, both from Berlin, who wanted to know if I was a GerIta (Germany/Italy) shipper. And the answer is YES! I'm a supporter of the 'Germany is an amnesiac Holy Rome' theory as well, so I feel bad about shipping them with anyone but each other. Even if neither one of them realizes, Holy Rome came back to Italy... GAH ALL THE FEEEELZ! The other question Berlin asked was whether Harry or Hermione will find out about America and Canada first. The answer is thus; I don't know. I'm just making this up as I go along, really. I have some ideas, but they're subject to change. Berlin, you are great, have a hug. \(^-^)/ NEXT CHAPTER: Harry goes to Flourish and Blotts and wonders about Mr. Kirkland, Alfred and Matthew. See you all next time!**


	4. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3: SUSPICIONS RISING**

As Harry wandered down Diagon Alley with Ron and Hermione, slurping down a strawberry and peanut butter ice-cream, he could barely focus on the fascinating shops surrounding him. Meeting Mr. Kirkland had brought all his suspicions about Alfred and Matthew back to the front of his mind. And then there was the fact that he'd run into him in Knockturn Alley, which hardly seemed the sort of place a respectable wizard spent his time.

And yet, Harry could barely bring himself to suspect Mr. Kirkland of anything bad. He couldn't quite explain it, but there was… _something _about him that made Harry immediately feel a deep connection between them. It was quite inexplicable. He had only seen him twice before, and both times he'd been lecturing Alfred. Today was the first time they'd actually talked, and yet Harry felt as if he'd known him all his life.

For the next hour, Harry was lost in his thoughts. He tried his best to pay attention to his surroundings, knowing how fantastical they must be, but he just couldn't shake off all these thoughts and feelings clouding his brain. When they finally started heading to Flourish and Blotts, he found that he simply couldn't hold it in anymore.

"So, am I the only one wondering what Mr. Kirkland was doing in Knockturn Alley?" he asked Ron and Hermione.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I've been wondering that, too."

Ron nodded. "Same here. Kirkland seems like an all right bloke, why would he be skulking around a place like that?"

Harry wracked his memory for every detail of their conversation. "He said he was 'catching up with some old friends' and changed the subject. I guess he realized how it must look to be hanging around with that crowd."

Hermione rubbed her chin. "It is rather suspicious… actually, quite a bit about their family is suspicious, don't you think?"

"So it's not just me?" Ron breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. There's something weird going on there. I mean, how is it that Alfred is so strong? He was able to kick down that door no problem."

"Maybe he drank a strength potion when we weren't looking?" suggested Harry. He'd been telling himself that explanation for days.

"No, I doubt it was that," said Hermione. "Because it wasn't just that night, was it? He was able to throw that pipe pretty hard during that fight with the troll. He's far too durable, too. During Flying Lessons, when Neville landed on him, remember? Neville ended up with a broken wrist, but Alfred didn't have so much as a bruise. And during Snape's challenge he was able to just walk through that fire without using a potion… he couldn't have drunk it beforehand, the effects wouldn't last long enough… and… Harry, what kind of curse did Quirrell use on him?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. It was purple, and it looked pretty nasty. Quirrell said it should have been more than enough to kill him, but he just got knocked out."

"Yeah, and then he woke up before you did…" Ron rubbed his forehead. "I feel as if we're forgetting something…"

"Yes, me too," said Hermione.

"What could it be…" Harry had a 'eureka' moment. "Matthew! We forgot about Matthew!"

"Oh, right, Matthew." Ron looked a bit sheepish at forgetting one of his best friends.

"That's odd, too, isn't it?" said Hermione. "Everyone always seems to forget him, or not notice him… how is that even possible? Half the time we were studying together, I forgot he was there. Even Alfred seems to forget about him sometimes… It's not as if he's _that _forgettable. I mean, he's always followed around by a talking polar bear, you'd think people would notice that… and why is there such a huge crowd?" They had arrived at the bookshop to find a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

GILDEROY LOCKHART  
>will be signing copies of his autobiography<br>_MAGICAL ME_  
>today 12.30-4.30<p>

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist! Wait… what were we talking about, again?"

Harry frowned. What _had _they been talking about? "I think we were wondering why Alfred was so strong, right?"

Ron seemed rather bemused, as well. "I still feel like we're forgetting something… ah, well." The three of them squeezed into Flourish and Blotts, making their way through the crowd of giggling middle-aged witches. A long queue wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. They each grabbed a copy of _Break with a Banshee_ and hung back from the line (they could sneak ahead to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger when they needed to) in order to continue their discussion.

"I've read that half-giants are very strong," said Hermione. "And they're famously resistant to magic, too."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione, there's no way Alfred's half-giant. He's too short."

Hermione tapped a staccato beat on the cover of _Break with a Banshee._ "Hmm… you're right… troll ancestry, perhaps? He doesn't look it, though, he's far too attractive…" She seemed to realize what she'd just said. "I-I mean, from a purely objective standpoint, he lacks the facial features generally found in those with troll ancestry. Something to do with dragons, maybe? They're resistant to magic, too…"

Harry put a hand on her shoulder. "Hermione. I doubt he's got a dragon for an ancestor. Just calm down. We can look into this later."

Hermione nodded, mostly to herself. "Later… yes… once we get to Hogwarts, I'll go to the library… there will probably be something there… yes, yes…" She had started twisting her hands together and there was a mad gleam in her eye. She seemed dangerously close to letting out a cackle and saying stuff like, 'They called me mad! Mad! Well, I'll show them!'

Harry and Ron exchanged identical worried looks. Ron spoke first. "Um, yeah, Hermione, you really need to calm down. Why don't we just ask Alfred when we see him at Platform Nine and Three Quarters? I'm sure he'll have an explanation for it."

Hermione glared at him. "Oh, I'm sure he will, but what if he wants to keep it secret? How will we know if he's lying just to cover up something dark and sinister?"

Harry spoke up this time. "Uh, Hermione, I think you've had too much sugar. Just take a few deep breaths and-" He was interrupted by a crash and a long stream of rather graphic swearing. They all looked around towards the source of the noise to find Mr. Kirkland hopping on one foot near them, holding the other in his hands and using language totally unsuitable for the ears of twelve-year-olds. Judging by the books splayed on the ground nearby, he'd dropped them on his foot and, like any injured adult, had started spouting obscenities to deal with the pain. It was actually somewhat comical.

Pretty much everyone else in the shop had looked over to see where all the swearing was coming from. Mr. Kirkland seemed to realize this, falling silent, gingerly lowering his injured foot, and giving the room at large a fierce glare. "Oh, bite me!" he snarled, picking up his books and storming over to the cashier.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all exchanged concerned looks. How long had Mr. Kirkland been standing there? How much of their conversation had he overheard? Did he know that they were getting suspicious of Alfred? Would he tell him? Though they didn't say anything, Harry knew that Ron and Hermione were having the same thoughts. "We'll leave it 'til Hogwarts, then," said Ron sheepishly. The other two nodded in agreement and they made their way to where the Weasleys stood in line with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

**A/N: #MadScientistHermione. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Gah, so many questions in reviews! Okay, here goes. To Insufferable Proximity: All I'll say is that England won't be a teacher for the events of Chamber of Secrets. I say nothing about what might happen after that. To freyiejj: America and Canada will be coming next chapter! To My Tomato Days: Boy, I'm getting a lot of shipping questions, aren't I? The Hetalia fandom takes shipping very seriously, doesn't it? I'm not much of a shipper in general, to be honest. My feelings about FrUK are... complicated. I can totally see it, they're practically an old married couple already. I just find it difficult to imagine them being in a healthy romantic relationship without them being too OOC. I feel like they hate each other, but it's such a familiar hate that it's come to resemble some sort of affection. They're a constant in each others' lives, and no matter how much they fight, I don't think they can imagine their lives without the other in it. So, in conclusion, I guess the answer to your question is; it's complicated. NEXT CHAPTER: America gets on the Hogwarts Express and is interrogated by Hermione. See you all next time!**


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4: THE INTERROGATION EXPRESS**

It was the first of September, the start of the school year, and America was stoked. It had only been a few months since he'd seen his friends, and once that whole Dobby debacle had been sorted out they'd stayed in fairly regular contact, but it had felt _way _longer than it should have. He missed Harry's embarrassed looks whenever someone openly gawked at his scar, and Ron's loud complaints whenever they got a huge amount of homework, and Hermione's death-glares whenever America suggested something totally awesome they could do. He couldn't wait to see them again.

At the moment, he and Canada had found a compartment all to themselves and were just putting away their luggage. America glanced out the window and saw England standing by the window, giving him one of his 'America we need to talk' looks. America obliged, flinging the window open and leaning out of it. "'Sup, Iggy?"

Whatever he wanted to discuss must have been important, because England didn't even bother complaining about the nickname. As it turned out, America's hunch was right. "Your friends are starting to get suspicious," said England. "They aren't anywhere near the truth, of course – last I heard, they were discussing whether you were part-troll." America let out a snort as England continued, "Still, Ms. Granger seems too clever for her own good, so I wouldn't be completely surprised if she could figure out the truth given enough clues. So make sure not to give her any more clues."

America rolled his eyes. "Oh, _fine_, I won't do any more American Door Kicks. Dude, was that all you wanted to say?"

"No," said England. "I also wanted to tell you that no matter what, it is very important that you protect Harry Potter."

America stared at him and said, "Uh, dude, doesn't that interfere with not giving them any more clues rule? What if I have to lift a tree off him or something?"

England's expression was dead serious, with just a tinge of… panic? "Make an excuse. Say you were filled with adrenaline, or drank a Strengthening Solution. Just make sure he survives. I've got a bad feeling about this year."

America laughed. "Dude, did your horoscope say that or something? You gotta stop believing that sh-"

"Watch your language!" America felt that that was a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, or whatever that phrase was. The whistle sounded, and both America and England glanced at the clock. There was only a minute before the train left. England turned back to America and said quickly, "In short, don't do anything suspicious, write to me about anything strange happening at Hogwarts, and most importantly, _protect Harry Potter._" With that he turned on his heel and began walking away.

America rolled his eyes and called after him, "Yeah, have a great year, too, jerk!" He sat back down and closed the window just as the train began to move. He looked over to where Canada sat, his bear curled up next to him. "Got all that, bro?"

Canada nodded, not mentioning how England had completely forgotten he was there. At this point, he was used to it. "Yes. Don't do anything suspicious, write about anything strange, and protect Harry, eh."

They didn't have time to say anything else, because the compartment door opened to reveal Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley. Hermione beamed at them. "Oh, good, there you are! I was wondering what-"

"HERMIONE!" America leapt up and gave her a hug. He did his best to remember his own strength and not crush her lungs, but she still seemed rather breathless when he released her. "Dude, it's totally been WAY too long! How're you doing?"

Hermione sat down next to Canada, trying to catch her breath. "Slightly oxygen deprived, but quite well, thank you. It's good to see you again." Canada let out the faintest of coughs. She jerked around and spotted him. "Oh, and it's good to see you, too, Matthew!"

Canada smiled at her. "It's nice to see you as well, eh, Hermione." He looked over at Ginny, who was still standing in the doorframe, watching the two boys a bit warily. "You're Ginny, right? Ron's sister?" She nodded, and he held out a hand. "I'm Matthew. It's very nice to meet you, eh." Ginny smiled and shook his hand, closed the door, and sat down next to Alfred.

Alfred glanced at the now closed door. "Wait, were Harry and Ron not with you?"

"No, I was hoping they'd found you already," said Hermione. America felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"They should have been right behind me and Mum," said Ginny, looking worried. "Now that I think about it, though, I didn't see them on the platform…"

America groaned. It had only been minutes since he'd promised to make sure Harry didn't get hurt, and already things were going wrong. "I swear, dudes, if those two are getting into more adventures without me…"

"Speaking of adventures," said Hermione. "I wanted to talk to you two about what happened at the end of last term."

America and Canada exchanged exasperated but resigned looks. _Here we go. _America figured he might as well play dumb. He was pretty good at that. "What, you want to hear about how I was totally a hero again?"

Hermione wasn't going to be deterred. "No, I've heard that plenty of times already, and each version seemed more improbable than the last. I want the truth."

America pouted. "Aww, but the truth's no fun. There aren't nearly as many explosions."

"Stop evading my questions."

"You haven't actually asked any questions, dude."

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath, for a moment looking eerily similar to England when he was trying not to explode. She opened them again and asked, in a voice of forced calm, "Let's start off with how you managed to kick down a door Harry, Ron and myself combined couldn't force open."

"You mean my AMERICAN DOOR KICK?!" The other occupants of the compartment winced at his sudden loudness. At his usual, still somewhat loud, volume, he continued, "I learned it from a friend in New York. It's pretty cool, huh? If you use the right technique, you can open pretty much any door, no matter how strong you or it is." He'd been coming up with excuses for how he'd managed everything unusual he'd done during the whole Stone adventure since the beginning of summer. He wasn't _that _much of an idiot, he knew people would ask questions, and his trio of human friends were too nosy for their own safety.

Hermione wasn't completely satisfied. "Could you teach me how to do it, then?"

America gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, dude, but it's an _American _door kick. You're British. I'd totally get banned from the country if I taught it to a non-American."

"So you _are _American?"

America nodded. "Yup! There's no place better than the US of A!"

Hermione turned to Canada. "But you sound as if you're Canadian…"

Canada nodded. "Yes, I am, eh."

Now even Ginny was looking confused. "You're from different countries? I thought you were twins. How did that even happen?"

Well, crap. America had been so busy thinking up excuses about why he was so strong that he hadn't even thought of an explanation for that. He looked at Canada and was relieved to find he was looking completely calm. Maybe he'd thought of an explanation? America took a chance. "You explain it, bro, it's a long story."

Canada nodded, and it looked like America's gamble would pay off. "Okay. Like Alfred said, it's a pretty long story, eh. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

Hermione nodded. "We've got plenty of time."

Canada took a deep breath, and America really hoped he had a good story. "All right, if you say so. Our parents had a lot of business in both Canada and the States, so they had houses in both places. When they died, they left their assets, including us, to two of their best friends: Arthur Kirkland, who I think you've already met, and a Frenchman named Francis Bonnefoy. They weren't exactly clear on who got what, though, so there was a lot of fighting over it. Eventually it was decided that Arthur would get Alfred and the place in the US, and Francis would get me and the place in Canada. Things stayed like that for a few years before Arthur decided that he wanted the whole set after all, so he started the whole fight up again, and in the end he won. Alfred and I visited each other a lot, but neither of us wanted to officially move to another country, so I grew up in Canada while he grew up in America. The end."

America was impressed. It was basically the human version of what had actually happened, so it would be pretty easy to remember. Thank God Canada actually thought things through.

Hermione was looking slightly embarrassed. "I see. That does explain it." She looked out the window. They were out of the city now, looking over rolling green hills filled with sheep. "Hmm… you'd think Ron and Harry would have found us by now, wouldn't you?"

America took this opportunity to avoid any more interrogation. He stood up and declared, "I'll go look for them! It's my duty as the hero to make sure my friends are all right!" He opened the compartment door and walked out. He paused for a moment, remembering something, stuck his head back through the door and said, "If the trolley comes, get me some Bertie Botts. I'm still looking for a hamburger flavoured one!"

**A/N: I almost had America make an A Few Good Men reference, but then I looked it up and learned that that movie didn't come out until December of that year. T_T Maybe after Christmas break I can finally have him declare "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!" HAVE A HUG INSTEAD! \(^-^)/ All right, Q&A time! To SilentMoonlace13: Da, I am planning on doing all seven books. I fear that by the end I will be so exhausted I could easily be made one with Russia. To the awesome Berlin: Hmm... I'd have to say my favourite food is spice cake with butter icing. IT IS THE BEST! And I was unaware you were a mad scientist named Hermione. Good to know. To GuestyGuest: I'm not sure how much Iggy will show up. Probably not too much. I might have a few chapters consisting of him responding to all the craziness America and Canada are writing to him about. Howlers will probably be involved. To Natekleh: It's not really a question, I guess, but yes, I do know Kumajiro's name. Canada doesn't, though, so the poor guy is gonna get called a lot of weird names. To Insufferable Proximity: Again, not really a question, but I felt the need to respond. I don't find you annoying. Everyone is entitled to their own ship. I may not personally support that ship, but you're still pretty awesome. And don't worry, everyone has too much sugar sometimes. At least you aren't turning into a mad scientist Hermione like Berlin apparently is. XP To 95Jezzica: I just wanted to show that America was the POV character. Look, Canada's there! He is not forgotten! And to all of you who have told me this fic is good: THANK YOU! YOU ARE AMAZING AND AWESOME AND BEAUTIFUL! Boy, these Author's Notes are getting long, aren't they? Maybe I should just do a Q&A chapter. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada hears some interesting rumours at the start-of-term feast. See you all next time!**


	6. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5: WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE**

When they finally arrived at Hogwarts without America finding a trace of Harry or Ron, Canada was feeling worried. Either they were trying to avoid America (which he couldn't blame them too much for), or they'd missed the train. The latter possibility was more probable, Canada thought. They might find America a bit annoying at times, but Harry and Ron still thought of him as their friend. They'd been so excited to see everyone again at Hogwarts in their letters, there was no way they'd start avoiding one of their best friends, was there?

Canada (with Kumachimchim in tow), America, Hermione and Ginny stepped onto the platform and took in their surroundings. It was exactly as Canada remembered it. "Firs' years, over 'ere! Firs' years… Hey there, Hermione, Alfred! Oh, an' Matthew!" Hagrid, as huge and hairy as always, was carrying a lantern in one great hand and waving at the three of them with the other. They waved back, America letting out an inarticulate yell that could have been a greeting.

Ginny was looking very nervous. Her eyes kept flitting around the platform, probably looking for something familiar to anchor herself with. She almost jumped out of her skin when Canada put a hand on her shoulder. "Just go with Hagrid, eh," he said in the most encouraging voice he could muster. "He's really nice, there's nothing to be scared of."

Ginny stared down at her feet and mumbled, "That's not what I'm scared of."

"What's scaring you, then, eh?"

Ginny looked around, as if to make sure nobody else was listening. America and Hermione had gone on ahead, following the crowd of older students towards whatever form of transportation they took to the castle. Determining that it was safe to talk, she looked up at Canada and said in a rush, "What if I'm not in Gryffindor? Everyone in the family's been a Gryffindor, they'll all be so disappointed if I'm in… Hufflepuff, or something… er, not that there's anything wrong with being in Hufflepuff, sorry…"

Ignoring the insult to his house for the moment, Canada put his other hand on her other shoulder and turned her so that she was looking him straight in the eyes. "Ginny, even if the Sorting Hat puts you in Slytherin, your family will still love you. That's what family is. Even if you fight a lot, or do really idiotic stuff, or don't see them for years, even if you all say you hate each other, deep down in their hearts, some part of them will still love you. And if you do end up in Hufflepuff, they're all really nice people, and I'll be there to answer any questions you have, eh. Okay?"

Ginny seemed surprised by this sudden speech, but she did seem reassured. She nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Michael."

Canada winced slightly. "I'm Matthew." _Well, it's better than Alfred, I suppose._

"Oh. Er, sorry. Thanks, Matthew." Canada released her and she nearly ran over to Hagrid. The crowd of students had dispersed quite a bit, but he could still see the general direction those in the second year and above were heading in. He joined the crowd, Kumaneko following and occasionally asking 'Who are you?'

As he got closer to whatever method of transportation they'd be using, he heard a familiar voice shouting, "NO! NUH-UH, NO WAY, DUDE! I AM NOT GOING NEAR THOSE THINGS! THEY'RE TOTALLY WAY TOO FREAKY!" Sighing, Canada broke into a jog to see what America was screaming his head off about.

He saw soon enough. They'd be travelling by carriages, pulled by what looked like slightly reptilian-looking, winged, skeletal horses. They did look, to use America's words, 'totally way too freaky'. Why would anyone use such scary creatures to transport students? But, looking around, he realized that almost nobody else seemed freaked out by them. In fact, he could only see two people staring at the 'horses'; Neville Longbottom, from Gryffindor, was staring at them in silent horror; and a weedy-looking Slytherin boy whose name Canada didn't know, who was staring at them with distaste, as if he'd just smelled something bad. Most people, however, didn't even seem to see them – their eyes passed over them without pausing.

So it seemed that everyone was confused as to why America was refusing to budge an inch towards the carriages and screaming about freaky creatures while Hermione was trying unsuccessfully to drag him over. "NO, HERMIONE, DUDE, CUT IT OUT! THOSE THINGS ARE PROBABLY GHOSTS! GHOST –BAT-HORSES!"

Hermione was looking extremely confused, and also slightly out of breath. She seemed to be pulling at America with all her might, but Canada knew that if his brother didn't want to move, he wasn't moving. "Come – on – Alfred, there's nothing – there! Why are you – always – trying to get – attention?" she panted. _Ah, so they really can't see them._

Canada walked over to America and Hermione. America spotted him and ran over, making Hermione nearly fall over backwards due to the sudden lack of a counterweight. Canada would have pointed this out, but America had run around behind him and wrapped his arms around his stomach in a grip so tight it would have likely snapped a normal human in half. "C-Ca-Matt! You can see them, too, right, bro?"

"C-can't… breathe…" Canada gasped. Sadly, America didn't seem to hear him, because his arms didn't give an inch.

Kumaginger, thank God, decided to swoop in to the rescue. "Whats-his-name's-brother," said the bear. "Let him go. He can't talk if he can't breathe." The people surrounding them stared at the talking polar bear.

"Huh? Oh, crap, right! Sorry, bro!" America released him, stepping back.

Canada took in a few huge gulps of air before saying, "I can see them, too, Alfred, but I don't think the others can."

America stared at him incredulously. "What?! B-but, they're RIGHT THERE! THEY'RE FREAKING FREAKY GHOST-BAT-HORSES!" He pointed at them. Nearby students looked at where he was pointing, then looked back at him, their confusion obviously mounting.

_Okay, how do I calm him down… aha! I think I've got it, eh! _"I don't think they're ghosts, eh," said Canada. "They're too solid. Ghosts are transparent, right?"

America gave the horses a dubious look. "I… guess so… so they're not ghost-bat-horses? Just bat-horses?"

Canada nodded, relief flooding his veins. "Yes. Now, let's-"

"THEY'RE STILL SUPER CREEPY AND I DON'T WANNA GO NEAR THEM!"

Canada sighed, the relief turning to frustration. Another idea popped into his head. If this didn't work, he didn't know what would. He let his shoulders sag, bit his lower lip, and started trembling. "I-I don't want to go near them either, b-but we have to, even if it's scary, eh."

America stared at him. "Wait, you're scared?"

Canada could almost see the gears switching in his brain. They just needed a little more grease… "Y-yes… I mean, those things are _r-really _scary. What if they hurt us or something? Th-there's nothing to stop them…"

Ah, there it was. That did it. A fire lit up in America's eyes. "Nothing except THE HERO! DON'T WORRY, MATTIE, THOSE BAT-HORSES DON'T STAND A CHANCE! LET'S GO!" He charged over to the nearest empty carriage, wrenching open the door and giving the horse pulling it a death-glare.

Canada dropped the act and picked up Kuma, smiling. Hermione was staring at him with a mixture of surprise and admiration. "You were faking?!"

Canada shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Well, you know Alfred, eh. He always wants to play the hero. I just had to take advantage of it." He gestured to the carriage. "Let's go. Our fearless defender awaits, eh."

*time skip*

Canada's worries about Harry and Ron only increased when the Sorting ceremony started without any sign of the two. He could just be sitting somewhere he couldn't see, he supposed. It was a bit hard to see what was happening at the Gryffindor table from the Hufflepuff table, but he could clearly see America and Hermione, so you'd think Harry and Ron would be sitting next to them. There'd been quite a bit of whispering about the absence of the famous Harry Potter among the house tables before the first-years had walked into the Great Hall in their queue.

Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on the stool. Even when it began to sing a different song than last years', Canada just couldn't concentrate on it. What had happened to Harry and Ron? Ginny had said they should have crossed the barrier just after her, and they definitely wouldn't have purposefully missed the train. They'd both been looking forward to school very much, which was a rarity in young people in almost any day. But for whatever, probably sinister, reason, they hadn't turned up.

Suddenly everyone was clapping, and he realized the Sorting Hat had finished its song. He clapped along with them, hoping it hadn't sang anything too important. As the first years began to be sorted, he found it more and more difficult to concentrate. He glanced up at the staff table. Professor Dumbledore was there, of course, looking as stereotypically wizardy as usual. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting a few places away, wearing a self-satisfied grin that filled Canada with the uncharacteristic urge to punch him in the face. America must have been rubbing off on him. Curiously enough, there was one teacher missing.

When 'Lovegood, Luna' was sorted into Ravenclaw, Canada leaned over to Hannah Abbott, a nice if somewhat high-strung girl who remembered who he was slightly more than half the time. "Where do you think Professor Snape is, eh?"

Hannah jumped a bit in surprise, but she seemed to remember who he was quickly and looked at the staff table. "That is rather odd," she whispered. "You don't suppose he's been sacked, do you?"

Canada shook his head. "Probably not. His replacement would be sitting in his place, wouldn't they? It's not like many people would miss him, though, eh?"

Hannah giggled, resulting in the two of them being shushed by a prefect. "Sorry," they both whispered, and turned their attention back to the Sorting. Canada still couldn't concentrate very much. Now he had another mysterious absence to worry about. He barely registered who got Sorted into which house, mechanically clapping whenever a new Hufflepuff joined their table. He did remember that Ginny Weasley ended up in Gryffindor, with Fred, George and Percy all cheering louder than for any other Gryffindor. It looked like she'd gotten her wish.

He was still trying to come up with believable scenarios that would explain Harry' and Ron's absence (currently he was wondering whether they'd been imprisoned by animal activists who thought Harry wasn't treating Hedwig properly) when, partway through dinner, the doors to the Great Hall banged open. Everyone turned to see Professor Snape striding towards the staff table, as bat-like as ever, with a very nasty smile on his face. Canada felt his stomach plummet. Anything that made Snape look that happy was _not _a good thing.

Everyone else in the Great Hall seemed to be thinking the same thing, because the noise levels suddenly skyrocketed as everyone started gossiping. Canada saw that he was heading straight towards where Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were seated, rather than his own seat. Canada leaned down to Kumakiki, who was under the table, eating any scraps of food the students dropped. The bear looked up at him. "Who are you?"

"I'm Matthew. Kuma, I need you to go listen in on what Professor Snape is saying and report back to me on your findings."

The bear nodded in understanding and started navigating the maze of legs underneath the table. Canada sat back up, hoping Kumagigabyte would do as he was told. He looked over at the staff table to find that Snape was indeed speaking with Dumbledore and McGonagall. The Great Hall had mostly gone quiet, everyone trying to listen in on what the professors were saying. Canada was glad he'd sent Kuma. From where he was sitting, he couldn't hear a thing. Eventually Professor McGonagall stood, looking very, _very _angry, and walked out of the Hall with Snape. Everyone started talking again, most of them saying something along the lines of, 'Did you hear what they said?'

Something bit Canada's leg. He leaned down under the table and saw Kumatigger sitting there, looking pleased with himself. "Who are you?"

"I'm Matthew."

"Matthew. The bat-human said that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley arrived in a flying car and crashed into a Whomping Willow. He asked the human with long silver fur and the human who smelled like cats to come with him to decide on their punishment. Silver-fur-human said that he wanted to finish his plate first." The little bear looked at him expectantly. "I want a treat."

Canada reached into his pocket and pulled out a home-made seal blubber treat. Kumachickadee nearly bit his hand off in his eagerness to get it. The northern nation sat up again, thinking over what he'd just heard. Well, at least Harry and Ron were still alive. They would quite possibly be expelled, but they were alive. At least some of his questions had been answered, but Canada still had quite a few that remained unanswered. Why hadn't they been on the train in the first place? Had they not been able to get through the barrier? How did they even get a flying car? What was a Whomping Willow?

He listened in to what his fellow Hufflepuffs were saying. He was sitting at about the midway point of the table, so he figured he'd get a version not quite at farcical levels of ridiculousness yet, but still not quite the truth. Hannah was telling everyone that Harry and Ron had arrived in a flying limousine, complete with a chauffeur and mini-fridge, and when they couldn't pay the driver they were thrown into a pit of Devil's Snare. The people at the end would probably be hearing that they'd come in a flying submarine piloted by otters and nearly suffocated from landing in a pile of seaweed.

Suddenly, the air was rent by a heart-wrenching cry. "NOOOOOOOO! HOW COULD THEY DO THIS TO MEEEEEE?!" Canada looked over at the Gryffindor table, along with everyone else, to find America standing on the bench, shaking his fist at the ceiling with tears streaming down his face. All of the Gryffindors, second-years, and other people familiar with his outbursts turned back to their food, having become desensitized to it. Everyone else, however, stared at him as he continued shouting. "DAMN YOU, SPACE TREE-PEOPLE, ABDUCTING MY FRIENDS AND IGNORING ME! STOP HAVING ADVENTURES WITHOUT ME, DAMNIT!" America had been sitting near the end of the table.

**A/N: This chapter ended up being MUCH longer than I thought it would. Ah, well, HAVE A HUG, EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Poor America is feeling left out again. No questions this time, so short Author's Notes. NEXT CHAPTER: America meets the wonder that is Gilderoy Lockhart. See you all next time!**


	7. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6: A REAL HERO**

By the time they headed down to Herbology, America had at least somewhat forgiven Harry and Ron for leaving him out of yet _another _adventure. Seriously, it was getting ridiculous how often he was left out. But he was just too happy to see them again to be really mad at them, and after the Howler Ron's mom had sent, he felt they'd received at least _some _punishment. They were getting detention, too. All these things combined meant that America was being a bit snippier than usual towards them, but he was talking to them, at least.

He, Canada, Harry, Ron and Hermione had only just joined the crowd waiting to get inside the greenhouses when Professor Sprout came striding into view, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. America groaned and said to his friends, "Narcissist warning, twelve o'clock, dudes." They all looked round, and he was quite happy to see Canada, Harry and Ron all glare at the approaching teacher. Hermione, meanwhile, went a bit pink and started patting down her bushy hair. If she was trying to get it to lie down straight on her head, she was failing miserably.

"Oh, hello there!" Lockhart called, beaming around at the assembled students. America had to resist the urge to punch a teacher in the face. "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels…"

"Greenhouse Three today, chaps!" said Professor Sprout, and America was quite pleased to see that the usually cheerful witch was just as annoyed by Lockhart as everyone else. He'd have to come up with a nickname for him… Snape was the bat-dude, Quirrell had become the turban-squirrell… hmm…

Everyone else started whispering amongst themselves about what they'd be doing in Greenhouse Three. They'd only been in Greenhouse One before. Three was supposed to be much more dangerous, and therefore more awesome. America almost hoped some vine-like plant would start strangling someone so he could be the hero and save them. But that would be bad, so it was only a half-hearted hope at most.

They were just heading in when Lockhart's voice had called out, "Harry! I've been wanting a word – you don't mind if he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?" America looked back to see a very disgruntled-looking Harry being blocked from entering the greenhouse by one of Lockhart's turquoise-sleeved arms. Professor Sprout barely managed to give him more than a scowl before he said, "That's the ticket!" And he closed the greenhouse door in her face.

Harry didn't have to listen to Lockhart monologue for too long, thankfully. He returned before Professor Sprout started the lesson, with an expression that told America everything he needed to about how the conversation had gone. He'd just taken his place between America and Ron when Professor Sprout began the lesson. Apparently they'd be repotting Mandrakes, which, according to Hermione, could kill you with its voice. So it was rather understandable that they all had to put on some of the best noise-cancelling earmuffs America had ever seen. They _completely _blocked off outside sounds! If he could use the design to make headphones, he could make a fortune!

As it turned out, Mandrakes looked like small, dirty babies, but not nearly as cute. Professor Sprout showed them how to properly repot them, then gestured for them to take off the earmuffs and began talking again. These were just baby Mandrakes, it seemed, and their cries weren't at full strength yet, which was good. America knew that Hogwarts could be a bit… _lax _about the safety of its students, but having a bunch of twelve-year-olds dealing with fatal sonic attacks seemed a bit too much. They all formed groups of four. Harry, Ron and Hermione stayed in one group with a curly haired Hufflepuff boy whose name America didn't know, while America and Canada formed a group with Neville Longbottom and a Hufflepuff girl who introduced herself as Hannah Abbott. They didn't have much time to do more than introduce themselves, though, because they had to put on their earmuffs and begin their work. America was glad he'd managed to get Neville in his group. The boy was hopeless at most subjects, especially Potions, but he was a genius when it came to Herbology. Which was good, because dealing with normal human babies was difficult enough. Apparently they became even _more _bratty and ill-behaved when they were plants. America was pretty sure his finger would have been bitten clean off at one point if he'd been a normal human.

When class ended, everyone was sweaty and covered in what America really hoped was just dirt, so they all took quick showers before the Gryffindors headed to Transfiguration and the Hufflepuffs headed to wherever it was they were going.

Transfiguration was hard work. He'd been so busy catching up with friends and world events over the summer it seemed as if everything he'd ever learned during his first year had been deleted to leave more space in his brain. They were supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but America had accidentally turned it into a TV-remote. Professor McGonagall hadn't been amused when he'd pointed out that he'd exceeded the instructions, because he'd turned the beetle into _lots _of buttons. Harry, meanwhile, was having trouble just getting his beetle to stand still long enough for him to try anything.

Neither of them were as bad as Ron, though. Apparently his wand had gotten broken during the whole flying car escapade, and had tried fixing it with tape, but he'd failed miserably. His wand kept crackling and sparking at weird moments, and every time he tried to transfigure his beetle they were all engulfed by thick grey smoke that smelled like rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, he'd accidentally squashed the beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn't pleased.

By the time class was over, Harry had only managed to give his beetle plenty of exercise, Ron had probably given them all lung cancer, and America had turned his replacement beetles into a keyboard, a steering wheel, and a SNES controller. Professor McGonagall seemed more amazed than anything else. They were all rather relieved to hear the lunch bell.

Everyone filed out of the classroom except the three of them. Ron was hitting his defective wand against the desk. "Stupid… useless… thing…"

America sighed, trying to fit the steering wheel in his book-bag. "Dude, it's a wand, not a TV. I don't think whacking it will help."

"Write home for another one," suggested Harry. The wand had started letting out noises reminiscent of a firecracker, but without the visuals, sadly.

"Oh yeah, and get another Howler back," said Ron, stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag. "_It's your own fault your wand got snapped-_"

They all finally went to lunch. Ron's scowl only deepened when Hermione showed them all the handful of perfect coat buttons she'd managed to turn her beetles into. She'd been sitting at a different table, so she was quite amazed when America showed her the fruits of his labours. "How did you even _do _that?!"

America shrugged. "I dunno, dude. I was thinking of buttons, I guess."

"B-but that shouldn't even be possible! Transfiguring something as small as a beetle into something as large as a keyboard is very, _very _advanced magic!" Hermione was flabbergasted by America's apparent disregard for what he should be able to accomplish.

"I know, right! I tried to tell McGonagall that I should really get extra points, but she totally just glared at me."

"So, what've we got this afternoon?" asked Harry, trying to steer the conversation away from Transfiguration. America saw why when he saw how curiously bent Ron's fork had become in his fist.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.

America groaned. "Ugh. Why is it that they always get such sucky teachers for hero class? There's no way Glinda the Sparkly Wizard is going to do a better job teaching us than the turban-squirrel."

Harry started sniggering, Hermione glared at him, and Ron just looked confused. "Huh? Glinda the Sparkly Wizard?" Oh, right, he'd grown up in a wizarding family. He'd never seen the Wizard of Oz.

"It's from an old movie called the Wizard of Oz," explained Hermione, still glaring at America. "And are you seriously comparing Professor Lockhart to a man who had You-Know-Who sticking out the back of his head?"

America paused in mock thought. "Hmm… Yeah, totally. You've read his books, right? I wasn't even able to get through the first chapter of the first one. It's all just him talking about how fabulous he is. I skipped ahead to the action scenes, but even those are horribly written and boring. It's impossible to build the proper suspense if you know that he survives without so much as a scar, dude."

Hermione stared at him incredulously. "Still, that's no reason to compare him to someone trying to bring You-Know-Who back to life!"

"Well, clearly we have different priorities!" Harry, Ron and Hermione were all staring at him now. He ignored them and continued, "On my list of despicable people who need the right-hook of justice, people pretending to be heroes are number one. Actual villains are number two." Now that she was distracted, America snatched the timetable from Hermione's hands and looked at it. "Also, dude, hearts? Seriously?"

Hermione blushed furiously and took the timetable back. They spent the rest of lunch in silence after that.

**A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ All right, I got one more question in the last batch of reviews. To Guest: No, I don't ship Ameripan. I think that they're great as friends. I ship Japan with Greece more, and now that I think about it, I don't really actively ship America with anyone. I'm feeling kind of tired right now, so I'm not feeling up to making a long Author's Note. NEXT CHAPTER: America goes through the first Defence Against the Dark Arts class of the year. See you all next time!**


	8. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7: PESKY PIXIES**

When America went into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with Ron and Hermione, he saw Harry was already there, stacking all of his books so that he couldn't see Glinda the Sparkly Wizard. His blush had died down, but it was still present. America couldn't quite stifle a snigger and said, "Dude, I wish you could have seen your face! It was _priceless!_"

Ron was grinning as well. "You could've fried an egg on your face. You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club."

"Shut up," snapped Harry. He looked as if he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole somewhere and hide for several years until no one remembered who he was.

America didn't have time to make any jokes, because Glinda had loudly cleared his throat to signal the start of class. America was torn between grief at hero class once again being ruined, and morbid fascination at just how badly the new guy would ruin it. The new guy picked up Neville's copy of _Travels with Trolls _and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front. "Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. _No way, I never would have guessed, _America thought mutinously. Glinda continued, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, third class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times winner of _Witch Weekly's _Most-Charming-Smile Award – but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon banshee by _smiling _at her!"

He waited for them to laugh; a few of the girls gave weak smiles. America was pleased to see he wasn't the only one to see how stupid their new teacher was. Glinda ignored this lackluster response and continued, "I see you've all bought a complete set of my books – well done." _Yeah, we've probably doubled your sales. _"I thought we'd start today with a little quiz." _Great way to make a first impression. Not. _"Nothing to worry about – just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in…" _All I've taken in is that you're more narcissistic than Prussia, which I've actually got to commend you for, because none of us thought that was possible._ When he handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes. Start – _now!_"

America looked down at his paper and started filling in the answers. _1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour? _ America answered with, _Brown, to match the quality of his books._ _2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition? _ America answered with, _To have his ego grow so large the planet collapses beneath the weight of it. 3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date? _America answered with, _Being more narcissistic than Gilbert. _And so it went, over three sides of paper, until finally America arrived at the last question. _54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be? _ America answered with, _66 Lockhartember (a 365-day month he created because the normal ones weren't good enough for him), and his ideal gift would be a clone of himself. _There, that seemed to be satisfactory. He still had a bit of time left over, so he doodled a picture of the professor in Glinda the Good Witch's outfit in the margin.

Soon the half hour was up, and Lockhart collected in the papers and rifled through them in front of the class. "Tut, tut – hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in _Year with a Yeti_. And a few of you need to read _Weekend with a Werewolf _more carefully – I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples – though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!"

He gave another of what he probably thought of as 'roguish' winks. America looked around to make sure he wasn't the only one shocked that someone like this actually existed outside of a fictional work. Sure enough, Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter, and Harry was still hiding behind his stack of books, but was looking as amazed as America felt. Most of the girls, however, were listening to Glinda with rapt attention and vapid smiles. Hermione gave a start when he mentioned her name.

"… but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions – good girl! In fact –" he flipped her paper over. "Full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand and America did his very best not to facepalm.

"Excellent!" beamed Glinda. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so, to business…" Wait, he actually had business he wanted to get to? America had assumed he'd given them that quiz because he hadn't planned a proper lesson, but had he actually asked them fifty-four questions about himself when he actually had something else he could have done instead?!

Glinda bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it. Despite himself, America found himself growing excited. Maybe there was something super dangerous in there that needed to be defeated by the hero! "Now – be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm." Even Harry seemed intrigued, peeking out behind his books to get a better look at the cage. Glinda placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stoped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his front row seat. America tensed, preparing to leap forward to defend his fellow classmates from whatever Glinda the Sparkly Wizard was about to unleash upon them.

"I must ask you not to scream," he said in a low voice. "It might provoke them." As the whole class held its breath, Glinda whipped off the cover. "Yes. _Freshly caught Cornish pixies._" America didn't even bother resisting the urge to facepalm this time. Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself either. He let out a snort of laughter which even Glinda couldn't mistake for a scream of terror. "Yes?" he smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not – they're not very – _dangerous_, are they?" Seamus choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Glinda, waggling a finger at Seamus as if he were a naughty toddler who'd mistaken a toybox for a potty. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!" America looked at the pixies. Their shrill voices were a bit annoying, and they were making weird faces at the people in the front row, but they hardly seemed to belong in the category of 'foulest creatures known to wizardkind'. "Right then," Glinda said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

The room immediately descended into chaos. The pixies, America quickly saw, were basically miniature blue versions of Peeves, but not ghosts, thankfully, so he could deal with them. He reached into his bag, pulling out the TV remote and SNES controller, and threw them with expert precision at the two pixies lifting Neville by the ears. The former beetles hit their targets, causing them to drop Neville. America managed to catch him before he hit the ground, giving him a grin and a heroic wink. He let Neville go and picked up the two pixies from where they were lying dazed on the ground. Neville went to hide under the nearest desk while America threw the pixies back into the cage.

"Yes, yes!" shouted Glinda, pointing at him. "Do what he's doing! Round them up, they're only pixies!" America rolled his eyes. _Funny how suddenly they're 'only pixies'. _Nobody else seemed willing to do anything (most of them were hiding under their desks, trying to avoid the carnage), so once again it seemed that it was up to America to save the day. Just the way he liked it.

Utilizing his Transfiguration mishaps and his Lockhart books, America slowly but surely rounded up the pixies who didn't fly out of the room. He had thrown the last one back into the cage just as the bell rang. He held up his arms in a V for victory. "HAVE NO FEAR, EVERYONE, THE HERO IS ONCE AGAIN VICTORIOUS!" Everyone (Glinda included) peeked out from the desks they were hiding under.

Glinda leapt to his feet, fixing his rumpled hair and robes. "Yes, yes, er, well done, Mr…?"

"Jones! Alfred F. Jones!" America was still too busy basking in his glory to make any jokes.

"Yes, well, Mr. Jones, take twenty points for Gryffindor!" Glinda put an arm around his shoulders. "See, everyone? If even Mr. Jones here can do it, so can all of you?"

As soon as the Sparkly Wizard made contact with him, America's good mood vanished. "GET YOUR HAND MY HEROIC SHOULDER, GLINDA THE SPARKLY WIZARD!" He shook off the offending arm and picked up his bag, looking over to where Harry, Ron and Hermione were all staring at him. "C'mon, faithful sidekicks, let's move on out to the next adventure!" With that he marched out of the room, Harry, Ron and Hermione scurrying behind him looking rather embarrassed, for some reason America couldn't fathom.

**A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ I don't really have anything to say about this chapter. I'm glad you guys liked Glinda the Sparkly Wizard! Let me know if you get tired of it, I feel I used it a lot in this chapter. Moving on to QUESTIONS! To 95Jezzica: England's been a bit out of touch with the magical community, but the Kirkland family would probably be known by the higher echelons of wizard society as an ancient, powerful, and secretive family. If my current tentative plans remain, I'll talk about it a bit more in later books. To issydragonheart: I don't want to give spoilers, so I'm afraid I can't answer that question. Sorry. :( I've got ideas on it, but I'm always open to suggestions, if there's someone any of you really want America or Canada to go to the Yule Ball with. To the wonderful Berlin: I was just joking about the whole Mad Scientist Hermione thing. :P And I usually just come up with Kumajiro's misnames as I'm writing. I think of either a word that sounds kind of like 'jiro' or make a reference to something. My brain works in strange ways sometimes. Looks like that's all the questions for now. Thank you all for being so wonderful and supportive! NEXT CHAPTER: Harry goes to Quidditch practice and receives an unwelcome surprise. See you all next time!**


	9. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8: 2001: A NIMBUS ODDYSEY**

After several days of avoiding Lockhart and (less successfully) his new fanboy and dealing with a still miffed Hedwig and Ron's wand malfunctions, Harry was quite glad to reach the weekend. He, Ron, Hermione, Alfred and Matthew were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. However, Harry found himself being shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Apparently they were having Quidditch practice at this ungodly hour.

Unfortunately Colin Creevey overheard and Harry found himself explaining the rules of Quidditch to him, which lasted until they reached the Quidditch pitch. Grateful for the reprieve from Colin's seemingly endless questions, Harry quickly ducked into the changing room. It wasn't much of a reprieve, he quickly found out, because Wood immediately began boring them all with his latest tactics and strategies. It was just about all the rest of the team could do not to nod off. Fred actually fell asleep on Alicia Spinnet's shoulder and began to snore.

As Wood talked excitedly about extremely boring things, Harry allowed his mind to wander. He thought about what Hermione had told him and Ron in the common room at the end of the first day of classes, after Alfred had gone to the Owlery to send his Transfiguration mishaps back home. She repeated everything Alfred had told her on the train in answer to her questions.

"Well, I guess that explains the whole accent thing," Ron had said, leaning back in his chair near the fire. "Did you ask them anything else?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I didn't get the chance. Alfred went off to look for you two, and Matthew and I started talking about what we might learn this year, and it just didn't come up again."

"That still leaves a lot of questions unanswered," Harry had said. "The fire thing, surviving the curse, not getting crushed by Neville… I suppose we need to ask him about it sooner or later…"

As if summoned by their thoughts, the portrait-hole had swung upon to reveal Alfred. He'd waved at them and come over. "Hey, dudes! Whatcha talkin' about?"

"You, actually," Hermione had said bluntly.

Alfred hadn't looked surprised. "Was it about how awesome I was when I rounded up all those pixies? Yeah, that was pretty awesome and heroic of me."

Harry and Ron had looked at each other and silently agreed to let Hermione do the talking. She had been happy to oblige. "Actually, we were wondering about how you survived Quirrell's curse. And the fire in Snape's challenge."

Alfred had rolled his eyes. "Seriously, dude, you're still going on about that?" He'd sat down in one of the chairs. "All right, fire away, I guess."

"Very well," Hermione had said. "How did you know you would survive walking through the black fire?"

Alfred had shrugged. "I'm the hero. There's no way a little fire is gonna beat me down."

Hermione's eyes had narrowed. "Is that the best explanation you're going to give me?"

"Yup. Dude, you know me so well!"

"Is being the hero the reason you survived Quirrell's curse, as well?"

"Yup! Hurt like hell, though."

Hermione hadn't been satisfied with this answer. She'd looked Alfred straight in the eyes and asked, "What aren't you telling us?"

"Wow, you don't beat around the bush, do you, dude?" Alfred had taken a breath and opened his mouth to say something else, probably a joke or excuse, but he'd faltered under Hermione's gaze. Harry, who had been watching his expression carefully throughout this entire exchange and seen nothing but amusement, saw… _something_… flicker in those blue eyes. It lasted only a moment, not nearly long enough for Harry to properly identify it, but he knew that he didn't like it. He was glad when the usual, if somewhat diminished, playful twinkle returned to Alfred's eyes. "Look, I'm kinda tired, so I'm just gonna go up to bed. Later, dudes." And with that, Alfred had gone up to the dormitory. When Harry and Ron had gone up themselves when they were feeling tired, he seemed to be asleep. Or maybe he was just faking. He seemed to have a lot of practice in lying.

"So," said Wood, jerking Harry out of his reminiscence. "Is that clear? Any questions?"

After a quick exchange between George and Wood and a guilt trip for Harry over missing the last Quidditch match of the previous year, they headed out to the pitch. In the time it had taken Wood to go over his shiny new plans, the sun had risen.

"DUDE, HOW ARE YOU NOT FINISHED YET?" a familiar voice called. Harry looked up to see Alfred, Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands.

"Haven't even started," replied Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade the three had brought out of the Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."

"DUUUUDE," yelled Alfred, a single word filled with sympathy.

Harry kicked off the ground and rose into the air, the feel of the wind in his face doing what Wood's long lecture had failed at; waking him up. He raced around the stadium, racing Fred and George. "What's that funny clicking noise?" Fred called, as they hurled around the corner.

Harry looked into the stands and groaned as his eyes fell upon Colin Creevey, sitting in one of the highest seats, snapping pictures like the deranged paparazzo he'd probably grow up to be. "Look this way, Harry, this way!" he cried shrilly.

"Who's that?" asked Fred.

"No idea," Harry lied, putting on a burst of speed that got him as far away from Colin as possible.

"YO, FANBOY, CHILL!" Alfred yelled at Colin. Harry felt a surge of gratitude towards the American. Whatever he was hiding, he was definitely a devoted friend.

"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air towards Harry. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training programme."

"He's in Gryffindor," said Harry quickly. _And you're sounding really paranoid, _he thought to himself. He didn't dare say it aloud. Wood would probably go into another several-hour-long speech on how the Slytherin team was out to get him.

"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George.

"What makes you say that?" said Wood testily.

"Because they're here in person," said George, pointing. Sure enough, several people in green robes were walking onto the pitch, broomsticks in their hands.

Wood hissed in outrage about having booked the pitch, and shot towards the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred and George followed. "Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!" Harry couldn't help think that if Wood hadn't taken so long lecturing them all, they could very well have been finished practice before the Slytherins showed up.

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He looked like he actually _could _be part troll, especially with his expression as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

Angelina, Alicia and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team (really, were Slytherins sexist on top of everything else, too?) – they stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

"But I booked the pitch!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape." He took it out of his pocket and read it aloud. "_I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practise today on the Quidditch pitch owing to the need to train their new Seeker._" Harry took more pleasure than he should have from the fact Flint had to pause between every few words to read. Yup, he would not be surprised at all if the Slytherin had some troll blood.

"You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood, distracted. "Where?"

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy. "Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy in dislike. Whether it was because of the stories Mr. Weasley had undoubtedly told his children about Lucius Malfoy, or because of the stories Ron had undoubtedly told his siblings about Draco, Harry didn't know. Or maybe Fred just didn't like the smug look on Malfoy's face. Harry certainly didn't.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint, as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team." All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words 'Nimbus Two Thousand and One' gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun. Harry felt a sudden hollowness in his abdomen.

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps," he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives. "Sweeps the board with them."

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Partly because they knew they'd be facing a team with the best broomsticks money could buy, partly because that pun had been truly horrendous. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits. "Oh look," said Flint. "A pitch invasion."

Ron, Hermione and Alfred were crossing the grass to see what was going on. "Harry, dude, what's going on?!" Alfred asked Harry. "Aren't you supposed to be flying around throwing balls or whatever? And what's _Draco Malfoy _doing here?" The name dropped from his lips as if it were something nasty he'd just eaten. He was glaring at Malfoy with his 'I really want to punch that guy in the face' look.

"I'm the new Slytherin seeker, Jones," said Malfoy, perhaps a tinge less smugly than Harry had been expecting. Maybe he'd finally started to recognize that look of Alfred's as well. He'd been on the receiving end of both Alfred's glares and fists on multiple occasions. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team." Alfred rolled his eyes, unimpressed, but Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him. "Good, aren't they, Weasley?" said Malfoy smoothly, looking quite a bit more full of himself now that he didn't have to look at Alfred. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives, I expect a museum would bid for them." The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy _their way in," said Hermione sharply. "_They _got in on pure talent."

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered again. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

Harry knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Alicia shrieked, "_How dare you!_" and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backwards on to the grass.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione. Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth on to his lap. The Slytherin team were paralysed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging on to his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist.

While all the other Gryffindors crowded around Ron, Alfred stepped forward to face the mirthful Slytherins. Harry could only see him from behind, but he could tell he was cracking his knuckles. _Is he actually going to fight the entire Slytherin team?! _ "Hey, snakes," growled Alfred. His tone sent shivers down Harry's spine, and all the Gryffindors turned their attention to him. None of them could see Alfred's expression, but the Slytherins obviously could, judging from their suddenly pale complexions as he continued, "You've got until the count of three to get out of my sight before I start breaking every part of your bodies I can get my hands on. Got it? One." Malfoy jumped to his feet and started backing away with the rest of his teammates. "Two." The Slytherins started moving faster, stumbling a bit over their robes. "_THREE!" _Now they all turned and fled into the changing rooms.

Alfred turned around to grin at his fellow Gryffindors, his expression completely back to normal, as if he hadn't just scared off a bunch of older boys who were each about twice his size. "And the hero is two for two!" He pointed at Ron, who was still throwing up slugs. "So, what should we do about him?"

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," suggested Harry. He decided not to ask Alfred how he'd managed to scare the Slytherins so badly, in case he felt the best method of telling him was demonstration.

**A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ America will never come up with a nickname for Malfoy, because he can't think of any name worse than Draco Malfoy. Q&A time! To Insufferable Proximity: Hmm... we'll just have to see, now won't we? Maybe if I can't think of anything to add to a chapter I'll have one of the Nations pop by for a visit. To 95Jezzica: Thanks for the suggestion! I guess I sometimes forget not everyone will have ready access to the books to find out what I skipped over. For the actual question, I think the Malfoys would know of the Kirklands, but not personally. They'd just have heard rumours. Draco would probably do a double-take if he found out Alfred was a part of that family. As for Hermione, I think she's come across the name once or twice but it never really stood out in her mind. To SoulxMakaLover37: Nope, no time-turners! *hurriedly hides necklace under shirt* I'm glad you like it! And Prussia and Lockhart meeting would probably be fun... ooh, I think I just got an idea. To Berlin: I'm really not much of an anime watcher. Before APH, the closest I ever got was playing Persona 3 (which I highly recommend if you have a lot of time on your hands and don't mind endings that make you cry). If I have some free time and don't get distracted by anything else, I'll give it a watch! To all the people who liked Glinda the Sparkly Wizard: I'm glad you guys like it! I'll make sure that Lockhart is never referred to by his real name in America's POV. NEXT CHAPTER: America learns what Mudblood means. See you all next time!**


	10. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9: TODAY I LEARNED A NEW WORD**

If America had been asked last night how he thought today would go down, his conjecture probably wouldn't have included lugging his slug-puking friend across the grounds, but that was exactly what he was doing. At least they'd managed to stop that Creevey kid from taking pictures. If Ron's current state had been immortalized in moving photograph, he'd probably flush so much his face burned off from the heat.

As the strongest of the group, America quickly took over supporting Ron's weight. He was able to move at the same speed as normal, but then he realized that would just add more fuel to Hermione's fire of suspicion, so he slowed down a bit. Harry and Hermione refused to go on ahead, hovering nearby and giving Ron worried looks and occasional reassurances.

"Nearly there, Ron," said Hermione, as Hagrid's cabin came into view. "You'll be all right in a minute… almost there…"

America rolled his eyes. "Hermione, dude, he's throwing up slugs, not blood, stop being melodramatic." Then the door to Hagrid's house opened and just about the worst person to have around at this time stepped out. "OH CRAP IT'S GLINDA THE SPARKLY WIZARD, HIDE!" He dragged Ron behind a bush and Harry and Hermione followed, the latter somewhat reluctantly.

"You were saying about melodrama?" Hermione hissed.

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" America could hear what Glinda was saying even from here. _Hagrid's standing right there, you don't have to shout. _ The hypocrisy of this thought went completely over his head. "If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book – I'm surprised you haven't already got one. I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, goodbye!" And he strutted towards the castle. As much as America didn't like him, he had to admit Glinda could strut. Give him a pair of high heels and put him on a runway and he could be a model. Maybe if he'd entered that career, it would have saved everyone quite a bit of trouble.

America waited until Glinda had strutted out of sight, then pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's front door, Harry and Hermione following. They knocked urgently. Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightened when he saw who it was. "Bin wonderin' when you'd show up, Matthew's already here – come in, come in – thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again."

Canada, sitting at the table with a cup of tea, waved at them. "Hey, guys!" he whispered cheerfully. Kuma-whatever-his-name-was was staring up at the pheasant hanging closest to the floor with a calculating expression and ignored the newcomers.

America sat Ron down in a chair and let Harry do all the explaining. He, meanwhile, sat down next to Canada. "How ya doin', bro?" he asked in a quieter voice than usual, not wanting to drown out Harry's explanation.

Canada smiled at him. "I'm doing pretty well, eh," he whispered. "I forgot a bit of stuff over the summer, but I've been catching up in the library, so I'm okay."

America rolled his eyes. "If you and Hermione had your way, we'd spend all our time in the library, wouldn't we?"

Canada chuckled. "Probably." His expression became more serious. "Speaking of the library, I've-"

"Better out than in," Hagrid said cheerfully, plonking a large copper basin in front of Ron. "Get 'em all up, Ron."

Canada gave America an apologetic look. "Sorry, looks like it will have to wait, eh." It was just about all America could do not to grab his brother and try to shake the politeness out of him.

"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," said Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. _Brain, get out of the gutter, not like that! _"That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand…"

While Hagrid plonked a teapot on the table and Fang slobbered all over his robes, Harry asked, "What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?"

"Givin' me advice on getting' kelpies out of a well," growled Hagrid, pouring out tea for all of them. America had no idea what a kelpie was, or why you would want to get it out of a well, but he decided to leave it be. "Like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some Banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle." America didn't know what a Banshee was, either, but he did know rightful criticism when he heard it. It was a bit surprising to hear it coming from Hagrid, who was usually respectful towards teachers, but America certainly understood why someone would criticise Glinda the Sparkly Wizard.

Hermione didn't feel the same way, because she said in a high-pitched voice, "I think you're being a tad unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the man for the job-"

"He was the _on'y _man for the job," said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into the bin. America blamed the former for the latter. He himself felt a bit like hurling at the sight of whatever the hell that stuff was. "An' I mean the _on'y _one. Getting' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. "Who was he tryin' ter curse?" Canada was looking curiously at the puking red-head, too.

America felt that Harry had done enough explaining and metaphorically stepped in. "Draco Malfoy called Hermione something. I can't remember what it was, but it must've been totally offensive, 'cause everyone started going crazy."

"It _was _offensive," said Ron hoarsely, emerging over the table top looking pale and sweaty. "Malfoy called her 'Mudblood', Hagrid-" _Right, that was the word! _Ron ducked out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance.

Hagrid looked outraged. "He didn'!" he growled at Hermione.

"He did," she said. "But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course…"

"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," gasped Ron, coming back up. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who was Muggle-born – you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards – like Malfoy's family – who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood." He gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He seemed completely desensitized to it at this point, because he threw it into the basin and continued, "I mean, the rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom – he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up."

"He's good at Herbology," Canada whispered, but everyone ignored him.

"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can't do," said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a shade of magenta America had never seen on a human.

"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's mad. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muffles we'd've died out." He retched and ducked out of sight again.

America glared out the window towards the Quidditch pitch. "Kinda wish I hadn't let those dudes off so easy now," he growled.

"Well, I don' blame either of yeh for wantin' ter hurt him," said Hagrid, jerking his head towards America and the out-of-sight Ron. "Bu' maybe it was a good thing Ron's wand backfired and Alfred let 'em off easy. 'Spect Lucius Malfoy would've come marchin' up ter school if yeh'd cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble."

Harry tried to say something, but his jaws seemed glued together by the treacle. "Harry," said Hagrid suddenly, as though struck by a sudden thought. "Got a bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"

America laughed while a furious Harry wrenched his teeth apart. "I have _not _been giving out signed photos," he said hotly. "If Lockhart's still putting that about-" He cut himself off when he noticed Hagrid was laughing, too.

"I'm on'y jokin'," he said, patting Harry on the back with enough force to send him face first into the table. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need the. Yer more famous than him without tryin'."

America laughed even harder, managing to gasp out between laughs, "I bet – HA! – Glinda didn't – HAHA! – like that."

Hagrid frowned in confusion. "Glinda?"

"It's Alfred's new nickname for Lockhart," Harry explained. "It's short for Glinda the Sparkly Wizard."

Hagrid raised an eyebrow, clearly not getting the reference. America was too busy laughing to care. "All righ', then. Anyways, he didn' like me sayin' tha'. An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle toffee, Ron?" he added, as Ron re-appeared.

"No thanks," said Ron weakly. "Better not risk it."

"Good idea." Hagrid turned his plate of treacle horror to America and Canada. "Alfred, Matthew? Want any?"

To America's horror, Canada reached towards the plate. "Thank you, Ha-"

"NOOOOOO BRO DON'T DO IIIIIIIITT!" America knocked the plate away, sending it crashing to the floor. He stood up, feeling very heroic. "YES! THE HERO HAS PROTECTED YOU ALL FROM THE TREACLE MONSTER!" Everyone else in the room looked at him weird. "What?"

**A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ BEWARE THE TREACLE MONSTER! Also, this chapter made me wonder why Lucius hasn't come to Hogwarts to confront America for punching his son. Anyone got any suggestions? Annnywaaays, Q&A! First of all, to all the people with wonderful suggestions for who should visit Hogwarts: GAH THERE ARE SO MANY GAAAH! Sorry. You all have great suggestions, but I'm worried that I couldn't use them all without Hogwarts turning into a Nation train-station. Please know that even if I don't use your suggestion, I still appreciate it. To Insufferable Proximity: I think that American can be serious and smart when things are looking dire, but if he's just in an everyday situation he'll be goofy and dumb because it's more fun. To alovinggirl (not really a question, but I wanted to respond): AAWWWW THANK YOU! Here, have a hug. \(^-^)/ Now I'm totally imagining America with that face. Do you think chainsaws would work at Hogwarts? Because it they do, now I kind of want to write a scene where America just chases Malfoy around with a chainsaw. Your suggestion is very interesting (I hadn't thought of doing anything like that), and I'll definitely take it into consideration. Please don't be sad if I don't use it, though, because I'm just making this up as I go along and a lot of stuff I want to do in the future right now probably will never happen. Thank you all once again for your great reviews, follows and favourites! You're way too nice to me. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada tells America why they can see the bat-horses. See you all next time!**


	11. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10: I'VE SEEN DEAD PEOPLE**

The rest of the visit with Hagrid was fairly uneventful. Canada apologized for America's insensitivity, they looked at the giant pumpkins Hagrid was growing, Ron threw up some more slugs, and they went back to the castle for lunch. As soon as they set foot in the Entrance Hall Professor McGonagall swooped down on Harry and Ron and began talking about detention. Canada and America slipped away and went into the Great Hall. Before they went to their separate tables, Canada grabbed America's arm. "I need to tell you something, eh," he whispered. "Meet me in the library after lunch."

America sighed dramatically. "Library, library, library, why don't you just marry those books already, dude?" Canada took this as an 'All right, I'll see you there' and let him go.

Canada finished his lunch faster than he usually did, due to not having to feed Kumajack. The little polar bear had climbed onto Fang's back to reach a low-hanging pheasant in Hagrid's house, so he wasn't hungry. Once he'd cleared his plate, Canada looked over at the Gryffindor table, where America, Harry, Ron and Hermione were all talking. Harry and Ron were both looking rather down, probably because of their impending punishment. Hermione had a _well-you-did-break-school-rules _expression on her face, and America looked as if he was trying to cheer them up. Hoping his brother would remember their agreement, Canada got up and started heading off to the library. It would be best if he could get the book he was looking for before America showed up.

He entered the library, nodding politely to Madam Pince, who ignored him as always. He headed over to the magical creatures section, scanning the shelves quickly for the book he was looking for. Really, any book would do, even _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, which they already owned, but that one didn't have any pictures. Finally, Canada breathed a sigh of relief and pulled _Thestrals: A Beginner's Guide_ down from the shelves. Technically the book was written for people who wished to raise Thestrals of their own, but it was a good source of knowledge about them from a writer not unfairly biased against them. They seemed to have a bad reputation in the wizarding world, though Canada couldn't really blame people for it.

He had just put Kumajello in a chair at a table and was just sitting down himself when America came into view. "Yo, Matt, 'sup?" He was being somewhat quieter than usual, thankfully, though still loud enough that Madam Pince would give him one of her withering glares if she'd heard it. America sat down across from Canada. "What'd you wanna talk to me about?"

Canada opened the book and started flipping through, looking for an illustration. As he did so, he said, "Do you remember those horse-like things that were pulling the carriages?" Kumagiggle yawned and curled up in his chair, preparing for a nap. Canada ignored him.

America shuddered. "How could I forget? They're giant freaky bat-horses! I can't believe no one else could see them."

"There's a good reason for that." Canada had found the page he was looking for and slid the book over to America. While America was looking at the full-page illustration, Canada explained, "They're called Thestrals, and they can only be seen by people who have seen someone die."

America shuddered again. "Creeeeepy. I guess that explains why most of the other kids couldn't see them. It'd be totally bad if they did." He paused, then brightened. "Harry should be able to see them, too, right? I mean, he saw his parents die."

Canada shook his head, taking the book back and rifling through the pages again. "No, I don't think he'd be able to. Here-" He read out a line from the book. "'_Simply witnessing death may not be enough. In order to see a Thestral, one must fully come to terms with that person's death, and understand the concept.' _ Harry was just a baby when his parents were killed. He would've been too young to understand what was going on." He closed the book and continued, "I'm rather surprised they're pulling the school carriages. According to this book, they're hard to domesticate. The best way is to raise them from birth, get them used to humans… Hagrid's probably in charge of this herd. He named a three-headed dog Fluffy and tried to raise a dragon, he probably saw Thestrals as adorable little bunny rabbits. So, in conclusion, we are not crazy." He thought this statement over. "Well, not hallucinating scary-looking horses, anyway."

America let out a huge sigh of relief. "Whew. That's a relief. It was kinda freaky, not knowing what those things were. Thanks, bro! Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

Canada nodded. "You're welcome. And, yes, that's all. See you later." He got up and started to head over to the history section. He'd only gotten a few steps when America grabbed his shoulder.

"Oh, no you don't! You are _not _going to spend the first weekend of term in the _library_. I refuse!" America started dragging him towards the exit.

"Wha-but-Alfred, cut it out! Let me go! Kumagoogle! Help me!" Canada looked pleadingly at the bear. Kuma opened his eyes blearily, saw his master getting dragged away against his will, and went back to sleep. Canada's shoulders slumped. Not even his pet cared…

America dragged him all the way to the seventh floor, Canada complaining and pleading with him to release him all the way. Finally they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady that served as the entrance to the Gryffindor common-room. "Password?" she asked.

"WATTLEBIRD!" Canada couldn't help but think that America wasn't doing a good job of protecting his house's security. Judging from the Fat Lady's expression, she felt the same, and the two of them exchanged an understanding look before she swung open, revealing the Gryffindor common room. America let go of Canada, said in a very firm voice, "STAY!", and ran through the portrait hole.

The portrait shut again. "He's your brother, huh?" asked the Fat Lady.

Canada nodded. "_Twin _brother."

The Fat Lady clucked her tongue, shaking her head sadly. "Oh, you poor, poor boy… how have your eardrums survived?"

"I've been asking myself that question for years, eh." Canada thought he heard some shouting inside the common room, but it was all muffled. He stood in an awkward silence for a few moments before saying, "So… what's it like, being a portrait?"

The Fat Lady shrugged. "It's all right, I suppose. I don't really have anything else to compare it to. What's it like being a human?"

_I'd tell you if I knew. _Canada didn't say that out loud, instead opting for, "I suppose that's a good point. Sorry."

"Oh, no need to apologize." She tilted her head to the side as more shouting could be heard. "It sounds like your brother's coming back. Good luck." She swung open, and sure enough America reappeared, carrying a baseball bat, four baseball gloves, and a baseball, with Harry, Ron and Hermione in tow, the three of them looking very worried.

America grinned at Canada. "C'MON, BRO, WE'RE GONNA PLAY BASEBALL!" He set off, certain that his friends and brother would follow. They did, though not without reluctance.

They found a wide-open space in the grounds that was suitable for their purpose. While America ran around setting up large stones for bases, Canada, Harry and Hermione explained the rules of baseball to Ron, who was as clueless about the Muggle world as Harry had been about the magical world when he'd first started coming to Hogwarts. Ron was doubtful about quite a few things ("There's only one ball? Where's the fun in that?"), but by the time America yelled "I'M READY! LET'S GO, DUDES!" he seemed to understand the basic concept.

America slipped on his glove and started tossing the ball from hand to hand. "All right, dudes, everyone know how to play?" He barely waited for them all to nod before continuing. "GREAT! All right, I'll pitch first! Who wants to be on which team?"

Canada paled, remembering all the times his and America's games of catch had ended with broken bones. Canada's broken bones. Also, he could see a more major problem. "Um, Alfred, I hate to say it, but we don't really have enough people, eh."

"Huh?" America looked at the four of them and slapped his hand to his forehead. "Aw, crap! Sorry, dudes! Looks like we can't play the full version…" He tossed the ball up and down with one hand, his face screwed up in the effort of thinking. "Uh… okay, how about we just practice hitting the ball? That should be fun! I'll go first! Mattie, bro, throw it for me!" He threw the ball at Canada, way too fast for him to react. It hit him in the shoulder. He gasped in pain, rubbing the area that would almost certainly bruise.

"O-okay." He picked the ball up from the ground and glanced over at Harry, Ron and Hermione. "You'll probably want to stand back. Alfred hits pretty hard, eh." They all went back about twenty feet, looking at the two brothers somewhat nervously.

America was grinning in a way that never boded well. "C'MON, BRO, THROW IT!"

Canada tried his very best not to start trembling. He wasn't fully succeeding. "J-just make sure not to hit me, okay, Alfred?"

"Oh, ye of little faith." Canada didn't find this altogether comforting, but he took a deep breath and did his best pitch, dropping flat to the ground as soon as the ball left his hand. With an almighty _BONK!_ America hit the ball with his bat, sending it soaring through the air. Canada got back up and followed the ball's flight. If they were playing an actual game, that would have been a home run. "AWW YEAH, HOME RUN!" America was ecstatic, doing a little happy dance.

Canada allowed himself a small, evil smile. "You realize you're going to have to get it back, right?"

America's face fell. "Dude, you suck."

They spent the entire afternoon playing. After Harry missed three pitches in a row (brilliant Seeker he may well be, but he would be a horrible Beater), America decided to serve as catcher. They eventually fell into a pattern; America was first, and managed to hit a home run every single time; then Harry went, and he missed the ball more often than not; then Hermione, who managed to hit the ball quite a bit, but it would usually be a rather weak hit that would probably result in her not making a single base; then Ron, who was without a doubt the worst, though he improved as the day went on; and then finally Canada, who would be replaced by Harry as pitcher (America tried the first time, but Canada had screamed and run away before the ball left his hand). He wasn't as good as America (he much preferred hockey or lacrosse to baseball), but he liked to think that he did fairly well.

By the time it was time for dinner, they were all rather sweaty and worn-out, but smiling. Canada admitted within the privacy of his own head that it had been more fun than the library probably would have been. They made their way back to the castle, Ron blabbering on about how America should join the Gryffindor team as a Beater once Fred and George graduated. He knew that America had made sure to bring back all their stuff, but Canada couldn't shake the feeling that he was forgetting something…

That feeling was answered when they stepped into the Entrance Hall and found a group of students clustered around a small white bear. They all seemed to be either girls or embarrassed-looking first-year boys. Canada breathed a sigh of relief and waved at Kumageography. The bear stared at him blankly for a few moments before turning his attention to a pretty third-year Ravenclaw girl stroking his head. Canada breathed an entirely different kind of sigh and trudged into the Great Hall. _Some friend _he _is._

As it turned out, he didn't have to mope for long, because a few minutes later Kumagaga entered the Great Hall and went over to where Canada sat at the Hufflepuff table, saying, "Who are you?"

Canada smiled at him. "I'm Matthew."

"Matthew. Give me food. I'm hungry." Canada was too happy to have him back to feel angry about how his pet seemed to only like him when he was hungry.

**A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ I've just realized this chapter did literally NOTHING to advance the plot. Ah, well, I'm the author, I do what I want! Not many questions this time, so short Author's Notes, I guess. To olivia71295: I'm glad you appreciate it! And, yeah, if Prussia shows up, he and Canada are going to talk, about syrup if nothing else. They talked a bit during France's Christmas party in the last fic, so feel free to re-read that as much as you want! To alovinggirl: You might be thinking of the movie version, where Hermione already knows what the word means and is the one to explain it. This fic is based entirely on the book. And, yeah, sure, let's go with that explanation! You don't mess with the Kirklands, else they come for you in their thick-eyebrowed drunken rage! Speaking of which, I need to figure out the human names of Scotland, Wales, Ireland and Northern Ireland. I'm thinking Alistair for Scotland and Patrick for Northern Ireland, since those are the names I've seen the most for them. Maybe Dylan for Wales? I've seen that used a bit. And for Republic of Ireland (who is going to be female in this story, because why not?) I really can't decide. I've seen so many different names used for her! Erin is the most obvious choice to me (it basically just means Ireland), but judging from the trend of naming the Nations after well-known figures from their history/mythology, maybe Grainne or Aoife or something... GAH, I CAN'T CHOOSE! It really doesn't matter that much, since I'm not planning on bringing any of them in until later books, but it would be nice to be able to know the names in case I need to have someone mention them in conversation. So much for the short Author's Notes. NEXT CHAPTER: America reads a book. Cue the apocalypse. See you all next time!**


	12. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11: NEXT THING YOU KNOW IT'LL BE FLYING PIGS**

For perhaps the first time since the invention of television, America was lying in bed reading a book. Any shocked onlookers would have been mollified by the fact that it was a book called _The Mechanics of the Flying Broomstick_. Restoring old cars had been a hobby of his since the first cars sold to the general public had started to break down, and flying broomsticks were pretty much the wizard equivalent of cars, so it was a natural transition. There were still quite a few words he didn't understand, though. He'd have to ask Canada or Hermione to translate for him in the morning.

Harry and Ron still hadn't returned from their detentions. Both of them had been very gloomy about their punishments and wished they had the others. Ron was cleaning the entire Trophy Room while being supervised by Filch, who had many times been the guard to America and co.'s Solid Snake. Ever since Harry had received an invisibility cloak for Christmas last year, they'd avoided a lot more exclamation points over his head. Harry, meanwhile, would be helping Glinda the Sparkly Wizard answer fanmail. He wasn't very happy with this arrangement. If America were in his shoes, Glinda probably wouldn't survive the night. Harry had more self-restraint, unfortunately, so he'd most likely not snap after one too many pieces of useless advice and stab Glinda in the eye with a quill.

America was just turning a page when Harry trudged into the dormitory, looking much more shaken than he'd been expecting. America looked over his robes for any eye-blood, but, sadly, there didn't seem to be any. Great. Nine more months of having to deal with Glinda the Sparkly Wizard. Still, for whatever reason, Harry was looking as if he'd just seen a ghost. Well, actually, he'd seen ghosts many times, but he was usually pretty cool with it, much calmer than America, anyway. He looked like what he probably would have looked like if he'd seen a ghost without becoming so desensitized to them.

America said quietly (for him, anyway), not wanting to wake the others, "Hey, dude! How did your evening with Glinda go?"

Harry went over to his trunk, pulling out his pajamas. "I'd rather wait until Ron gets back, thanks. I don't want to have to say it twice. Hold on a minute, are you _reading_?" He'd frozen, staring at the book in America's hand as if it were a baby he'd just claimed to have given birth to.

"Uh, yeah?" _Wait, am I not sure? _ More confidently, America said, "Yeah. It's on brooms. I wanted to figure out how they actually worked. You wouldn't happen to know what the incantation for a Cushioning Charm is, would you?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Ask Hermione, she probably knows."

America nodded, turning his attention back to the book. "Yeah, that's the plan, dude. She and Matt are totally gonna need to translate this for me. The bits I can understand are pretty cool, though. I fix up cars a lot, and this is pretty similar, so it's only when they start talking about magic that it feels like I'm reading an alien language."

"Huh." Harry still seemed a bit unnerved by the thought 'Alfred is reading a book on his own time that is not required for homework'. "Was there anything in particular that inspired this curiosity?"

"It's a kinda long explanation, dude. You sure you want to hear it?" Harry gave an affirmative answer, so America continued. "Okay. So, when we were practising baseball today, I started thinking about how in baseball, you aren't allowed to use certain kinds of bats because they'd give you an unfair advantage, right? So then I started thinking about Quidditch, cuz for some stupid reason they don't have any sort of similar rules about brooms. The Slytherin team's chances of winning the cup this year skyrocketed just cuz they've got better brooms. It's not anything to do with skill, it's just because one guy had a lot of money." America stopped to start taking deep breaths. The thought of Draco Malfoy _really _pissed him off. He must be spending too long here. He was starting to turn into England.

"So why don't you ask Professor McGonagall to make a rule or something?" asked Harry.

America made a growling noise deep in his throat. "Because, dude, if I do that, Snape's gonna say we're just jealous that his team was able to get better brooms, and I'm sure the bat-dude will find a way to stop whatever regulations might be put in place." He held up the book. "So, since I highly doubt Iggy's gonna buy new broomsticks for all of you just cuz I asked, I'm going to see whether I can just upgrade your team's broomsticks."

"Upgrade?" Harry sounded skeptical. "I'm not sure you can upgrade brooms, Alfred."

"Why not? I do it all the time with cars. I just need to figure out the broomstick version of putting in a sweet new engine, and you guys'll be zipping around like the best of 'em."

It was just then that Ron came stumbling into the dormitory, smelling like polish and massaging his right arm. "My muscles have all seized up," he groaned, sinking on his bed. "Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to shift the slime… Wait, Alfred, are you reading?!"

America said jokingly, "Yeah, dude, and a pig is totally gonna fly past that window any second now." He looked over at Harry, who at some point during their conversation had gotten changed into his pajamas. "Okay, Ron's here now, let's hear what happened."

Harry's expression, which had brightened up considerably during their talk about brooms, suddenly went back to the almost fearful look he'd had when he first came into the room. In a whisper just loud enough for them to hear (he was probably worried about waking up Neville, Dean and Seamus), he said, "It started out pretty normal. I had to address the envelopes while Lockhart went on about being a celebrity or something. I'm not sure, I blocked most of it out. Then, right at the end, I heard a voice." He shuddered. "It was… this is going to sound strange, but it sounded like… cold venom? I didn't know a voice could sound like that, but it did. And it was talking about… killing someone. Then it went away, and Lockhart said he didn't hear anything. It made him realize the time, at least, so he let me go and I came back here."

"And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" asked Ron, frowning. "D'you think he was lying? But I don't get it – even someone invisible would've had to open the door."

Somehow, America was reminded of something… Great, skeletal-looking horses with leathery wings that no one else seemed able to see, even though they were _right friggin there! _"Maybe there's something about you that means you could hear it, but he couldn't?" America theorized out loud.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Well, _obviously_, if Lockhart was telling the truth."

"Dude, that's not what I meant! I meant, like, something magical! Like with whatchamacallits! Those things pulling the carriages!" Both Harry and Ron gave him blank stares. America sighed, throwing his book towards the end of the bed. "Oh, never mind, it's too late for this kind of thinking. I'm going to sleep! Later, dudes!" He lay back down on his pillow and closed his eyes. Apparently Harry and Ron had the same thought as he did, because he didn't hear them talk any more.

America's brain was too busy working through what Harry had said to really relax. When he finally did fall asleep, he had a dream where he'd discovered that the best way to make brooms go faster was to soak them in cold poison. He warned the Gryffindor team to always wear gloves and not touch them with their bare skin, but they all laughed at him and said, "Didn't you know, Alfred? Flying naked is the most streamlined way of flying!" Then they all took off their robes (they all had the anatomy of Barbie and Ken, so he didn't feel embarrassed about it) and sat on their brooms. They all screamed and fell to the ground, dead, while their souls went into the brooms and started chasing him around chanting, "It's all your fault! It's all your fault!"

When the Weasley twin brooms caught up to him, he jerked awake and screamed, "IT'S NOT MY FAULT! YOU'RE THE ONES WHO SAT NAKED ON POISONOUS BROOMS!"

Sunlight was streaming into the room, and all the other boys were already awake. They all stared at him in silence for a few moments before Ron said, "What the hell kind of dream were you having?"

**A/N: Aaaand another chapter with barely any plot advancement. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ LOOK ALOVINGGIRL I'M USING YOUR IDEA YAY! And this should actually be a short Author's Notes, since there weren't really any questions in the last batch of reviews. Ah, well! So you guys are okay with Patrick, Alistair, Dylan and Erin as names? Good to know! Also, another quick request regarding names: I'm going to give Ireland a different last name, because she's left the United Kingdom and I don't think she'd want to keep the same last name. Anyone got any suggestions? It should probably be O'something, because Hetalia is nothing without stereotypes. Thank you all once again for all your positive reviews! NEXT CHAPTER: America has a rather odd request for Northern Ireland. See you all next time!**


	13. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12: STRATEGIC RETREATS**

October arrived at Hogwarts, bringing with it cold, rain, and a spate of colds. As it turned out, wizards had found the cure for the common cold, yet many still couldn't work a telephone. But, more importantly, America continued researching brooms. Canada and Hermione were happy to help with any concepts he had a hard time understanding. It was getting to the point that every time he closed his eyes he saw diagrams of different kinds of brooms.

On one stormy Saturday a few days before Halloween, while Harry was at Quidditch practice, America closed the latest book he'd gotten from the library and threw it onto the table. "Okay, dudes, that's it. I've totally officially reached the point where I can't do any more reading."

He, Ron and Hermione were all sitting in the Gryffindor common room in some chairs near the fire. Hermione was helping Ron with the pile of homework he'd left unfinished during the week. She'd left America alone because she didn't want to risk him losing his sudden interest in books, which was a wonderful thing from her perspective. The two of them looked up at America.

"Well, we knew it was going to happen eventually," said Ron.

"It's a shame," sighed Hermione. "But I suppose some part of me knew it wouldn't last."

"What? Hey, it's not like I got bored of it!" America defended himself. "It's just that I've gotten to the point where I've learned just about all I can from books. If I want to figure this out, I'm gonna need to start looking at actual brooms."

"Harry'll probably let you take a look at his," suggested Ron.

Hermione had an entirely different idea. "Why don't you keep looking for books? I'm sure if you found the right one, you'd be able to learn all you have to." Clearly she was uncomfortable with the notions of books not providing enough knowledge for something.

America shook his head. "No, Hermione, I'm pretty sure I've read every book on brooms in the library. And, Ron, just holding brooms and looking at the outside isn't enough. When you're doing a check-up on a car, you don't just look at the outside. You have to pop open the hood and take a look at the engine. I doubt Harry would let me cut open his Nimbus to see the insides."

Ron's eyes widened. "What?! You're going to cut up a broomstick?!"

America gave a thumbs up. "Yup! D'you know anyone who'll let me use theirs?"

"No!" Ron was staring at him as if he'd just suggested cutting up a baby. "Nobody will – you can't – no!"

"Ron is being biased, but he's right," said Hermione. "Nobody's going to let you dissect their broomsticks. And no," she added, seeing America open his mouth to say something. "You can't use one of the school brooms. So unless you know someone who has old brooms just lying around-"

"OF COURSE! I'LL ASK IGGY!" Ron and Hermione flinched. _What's up with that? Are they scared of Iggy? Am I being too loud? Nah, that can't be it. I can yell way louder than this. _ Then America actually thought about what he'd just said. "Oh, wait. There's no way he's gonna send me a broomstick and a chainsaw…"

Hermione's eyes bulged. "_A chainsaw?!_"

America ignored her. "Hmm… maybe one of his brothers? Who would send me something wildly inappropriate for someone my age…" A memory came to him, one of fermenting whiskey (with the e, remember, to distinguish it from the Scottish garbage). "OF COURSE! I'LL ASK PATRICK!" Yeah, Northern Ireland would help him! They'd been pretty close since America had taken in a lot Irish immigrants during that whole famine thing. Sure, the guy had been getting pretty scary lately, but that just made him even more likely to agree to send a chainsaw!

America borrowed some parchment and a quill from Hermione and began writing a letter.

_Dear Patrick,_

_ How've you been? You and Iggy getting along any better? I realize that he's been a huge jerk to you (he's a huge jerk to pretty much everyone), but some of the stuff you've been up to is kind of scaring the crap out of everyone. Could you tone it down a bit at least? Iggy's trying his best, even if a troll could probably do better._

_ But I'm not writing to you about that. This is gonna sound weird, but do you have any spare flying broomsticks you have no intention of using ever again? If yes, then I'm also gonna need a chainsaw that can operate inside Hogwarts. You heard that Mattie and I were going to school there, right? If not, then SURPRISE! I guess. School's pretty fun, but Dumbledore keeps hiring idiots to teach hero class. Last year's teacher turned out to have Lord Moldyshorts sticking out the back of his head and was trying to return him to power and kill my friend Harry, and this year's teacher is _Gilderoy Lockhart. _You've heard of him, right? If you've read his books, then believe it or not he's even more annoying in person._

_ Write back soon! And tell Erin I said hi._

_ Love, Alfred._

"Yo, Hermione, mind checking my spelling?" America asked when he was finished.

"Oh, all right," sighed Hermione.

"Thanks, dude!" America passed it over and waited while she read it over.

When she finished, she looked at him critically, "Your spelling was correct for the most part. I changed your 'gonna's to 'going to's, and you wrote Moldyshorts instead of… You-Know-Who."

America rolled his eyes. "Dudes, what is up with you? It's Moldyshorts! It's not that hard to say! Come on, I'm sure you can do it! Mol-dy-shorts! What are you guys laughing about?" They were both sniggering. Ron looked to be caught between amusement and utter terror.

"N-nothing," he stuttered. He looked over at the letter Hermione was still holding. "What kind of stuff has this Patrick bloke been up to that's so scary?"

America thought over what he would say. He could hardly tell them the truth. "Uh… I'd rather not say. You'd probably get the wrong idea. He's an okay dude, he's just… going through a rough time right now, and he isn't dealing with it so well." _If you can call being torn apart by constant warfare between your own people 'going through a rough time' and blowing your brother's stuff up 'not dealing with it so well'. _America took back the letter. "Anyways, thanks for the spell-check, Hermione! I'll just go to the Owlery to send this real quick! Laters!" He got up and nearly ran out of the common room.

He was planning on running all the way to the Owlery, but about three-quarters of the way there he stopped dead in his tracks. A ghost wearing a ruff around his neck was floating towards him. America's brain barely had enough time to recognize the ghost as Nearly Headless Nick before it short-circuited from fear. "AAAAAAAHHHHH GHOOOOOOOOOOST! STRATEGIC RETREAT! STRATEGIC RETREAT!" The hero valiantly began advancing with all the speed he could muster away from the enemy.

He'd barely gone more than twenty feet when he turned a corner and crashed into someone with a loud _squelch! _The person he'd crashed into seemed to be very muddy. America looked down at the muddy person and recognized him. "Ack! Sorry, Harry, dude! I was… uh… utilizing a strategic retreat from a ghost!" He got up and helped Harry to his feet.

"It's okay, Alfred," said Harry, rubbing his side where America had crashed into him with a pained look. "Say, I don't suppose you'd want to come along to a Deathday Party on Halloween?"

America felt his face contort into an image of confusion. "Huh? Deathday Party? What's that?"

"It's a party where a ghost celebrates the day of their death," explained Harry. "It's Nearly Headless Nick's, apparently he's invited ghosts from-"

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH STRATEGIC RETREEEEEEAAAAT!" America ran back the way he'd come. It wasn't until he heard hooting that he remembered why he'd gone out of the common room in the first place. He followed the hooting to the Owlery, where dozens of birds resided.

America tried to catch the attention of one of the school owls. A handsome tawny noticed him and flapped down onto his arm from its perch. America held out his letter. "Yo, I want you to take this to Patrick Kirkland. Can you do that, dude?" The owl nodded, took the letter in its beak, and flew away. "Wha- WAIT! I didn't even tell you where he was!" _Ah, well. I just hope that little dude makes it out okay and doesn't get shot or something._

America headed back to the common room, on the lookout for any surprise ghost attacks. He managed to make it back to Gryffindor tower safely, though he wasn't entirely sure how. Perhaps his heroic aura had scared away any nasty spectres! Yeah, that was it!

A freshly clean Harry was talking with Ron and Hermione. Hermione waved at America. "Hello, Alfred! Harry was just telling us how he was invited to Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday-"

"AAAAAAAAHHHH STRATEGIC RETREAT!"

**A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ STRATEGIC RETREEEEEAAAAAAT! At this point in history the Troubles were still in full swing for Northern Ireland, so he's not a happy camper. Regarding the whiskey thing, here's a fun fact: American distillers in the 19th century were mostly Scots-Irish, i.e. Ulster (old term for the region that is mostly modern-day Northern Ireland) Scots, and to this day American bourbon and Irish whiskey are surprisingly similar. So I'm translating that to Northern Ireland being America's teacher regarding alcoholic beverages. Canada has a similar thing going on with Scotland and whisky without the e. On another note, soon my idea involving America, Malfoy and a chainsaw will come to fruition... soon... SOOON MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Okay, time for questions. To Natekleh: It's okay, I'm just curious where you found those names. I haven't seen much 'official' information on England's siblings, other than that picture of Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland and a few comments. To the guest who got story-lost: I'm glad you found this story again! I find it almost impossible to write anything without adding a few jokes, ESPECIALLY when the subject matter is dark. Don't worry, I'm doing fine. I guess I'm a fast writer, because these chapters usually take me about three hours at most to write. Regarding America's Dream: I don't know. I really don't know. It just struck me as the kind of thing that would happen in a dream. My mind is a strange place. To Cat. I'm a cat: That's kind of random, but I'll give it a shot. Italy: "If... if it brings Holy Rome back... I'll do it! I'll eat all the food Britain can throw at me! Big brother, hold my hand!" Romano: "FRATELLO, YOU IDIOTA, DON'T DO IT!" There, have a free Romano. I'm sorry, that was probably really bad and not what you were hoping for. To Berlin: Hmm... I dunno... English? It's the only language I'm fluent in. Sorry, that's probably also not what you were hoping for. I'M SORRY GUYS GAAAAH! Okay, back to normal now. Thank you all for the ideas regarding Ireland's surname! The ones I'm seeing with several suggestions are O'Brien and O'Malley, but feel free to keep adding more! Nothing's set in stone! NEXT CHAPTER: Canada goes to the Deathday Party. See you all next time!**


	14. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13: HALLOWEEN**

Halloween morning brought something that was a nice surprise for America but probably a bad surprise for everyone else. Canada had been wolfing down some pancakes when the morning post arrived in the form of hundreds of owls carrying letters and packages. Everyone's attention, however, was caught by the small parliament of owls carrying two oddly-shaped packages heading towards the Gryffindor table. One package was long and thin and resembled how Harry's Nimbus had looked when it had been sent last year, but the other one was lumpier and if Canada hadn't known beforehand he probably never would have guessed correctly what it was.

Sure enough, the two packages were dropped right in front of America, along with a letter. Canada got up and walked over, because there was about a 90% chance that, after reading the letter, America would jump up and run over to him anyway. He arrived at the Gryffindor table just as America finished reading the letter. He tucked both packages somewhat awkwardly under one arm and used the other to grab Canada by the shoulder. "Yo, bro, we need to find an empty classroom or something!" Canada barely had time to grab the letter from the table before being dragged out of the Great Hall. Kumajaguar was in a good mood, it seemed, because he followed them.

As they walked, Canada gave the letter a read.

_Dear Alfred,_

_ I am not going to talk about Arthur. I tried in a previous draft of this letter, and I ended up becoming so angry I ripped it to shreds and threw it into a fire imagining it was his stupid face. All I will say about him is that he mentioned you two were going to Hogwarts, but not much else. How are you liking it there? I'd be interested in knowing how it's changed since we all left._

_ Now, getting to what I have no doubt was the point of your letter, here's an old Cleansweep 4 that I had lying around, and a chainsaw that's been enchanted so that it should work in a place with as much ambient magic as Hogwarts. Don't open them in the Great Hall, any Muggle-borns or halfbloods probably wouldn't react well to a chainsaw at breakfast. Go back to your dormitory or find an empty classroom or something. I am going to be charitable and assume you're not planning on using the chainsaw on any students. If you are, I should warn you that chainsaws don't make the best weapons. The chain will probably break as soon as it encounters something a hard as bone, and the results aren't going to be pretty for you._

_ Erin wants to write something as well. Write back soon._

_ Love, Patrick._

_ Dear Alfie,_

_ Hello to you too! How are you liking it at Hogwarts? It's been ages since I've been there, literally. What house did you get Sorted into? Knowing you, you probably ended up in Gryffindor. Home of the brave and all that. I ended up in Hufflepuff myself, along with Dylan. Not as flashy, but they're all really nice people. They're using a hat to do the Sorting now, right? How exactly does that work? Tell me in your next letter! You are writing a next letter, right? You'd better be._

_ I think things between Patty and Arthur are settling down a bit. Patty would never admit it, but he's getting really tired of all this fighting. If Arthur isn't a massive _(there was quite a bit of scribbling here, probably to cover up some choice expletives) _scumbag, this should all go over in a few years. That's taking a big chance, though, because we all know how much of a _(again, there was quite a few words scribbled out.)

_Sorry. I see why Patty avoided talking about little brother. Moving on, _Gilderoy Lockhart _is teaching at Hogwarts? Wow, Dumbledore must really be scraping the bottom of the barrel. He's good-looking, I suppose, but there are plenty of people in the world more attractive, I have no idea how he's gotten this famous. I suppose it's one of those inexplicably popular things that really shouldn't be. I truly hope that a large percentage of his books' sales are just people wanting to see how dreadfully awful it is, and finding that the answer is 'very'. Just how bad are his lessons? Are you learning anything apart from the depths of human self-centeredness?_

_ If you're planning on using the chainsaw on a student, then shame on you, that's horrible. But if the student is a Slytherin, feel free to chase them around a bit. And send me pictures!_

_ Lots of love, Erin._

_ P.S. Oh, I almost forgot! How are you doing all your paperwork? Is your boss sending it to you, or what? You've been skipping on the meetings, I know that much. I need to know how you're doing it for the next time I'm really hung over._

Canada was always amazed by how Ireland managed to dot all her i's with little shamrocks without losing all feeling in her hand. He was also amazed how even Northern Ireland's _handwriting _could be intimidating. He didn't have time to wonder much else, because America had found an empty classroom. He released Canada to open the door and charged on inside, dropping the broomstick and chainsaw on a nearby desk. Canada sat down and placed Kumajunpei on his lap while America ripped open the packaging like a child on Christmas morning.

The broomstick looked rather old and not well taken care of. Knowing how lazy Northern Ireland could be, it had probably been lying around in his attic for decades collecting dust. The chainsaw was an older model, and looked quite ordinary. They'd have to take Northern Ireland for his word that there was anything special about it.

America was grinning. "Bro, this is PERFECT! Let's see…" He picked up the chainsaw and started it up. The sight of a grinning America wielding a chainsaw brought up some bad memories, and Canada found himself shrinking down in his seat, taking deep steadying breaths. America, of course, didn't notice. "Hey, bro, you got any hockey masks?"

Canada nodded. "Y-yeah, I brought one or two, eh." _Please turn that off, please turn that off, please turn that off…_

Apparently one of them was now telepathic, because America turned off the chainsaw and set it down again. He still had that evil grin on his face, though. "Good. I'm gonna need to borrow it. And maybe I can ask that Creevey to take pictures… yes, that could work…" He once again hefted the broomstick and chainsaw under one arm. "Yo, make sure to bring a mask to lunch! See ya!" He grabbed the letter from Canada's hands and left the room, probably to put his stuff back in his dormitory.

From inside the classroom, Canada heard Hermione say, "Oh, hello, Alfred? We were wondering what – DID HE REALLY SEND YOU A CHAINSAW?!"

"Yup! He's the best, isn't he? And Erin gave me an awesome idea for what to do with it!"

Canada looked down at Kumakindle. "Why are all of my relatives crazy?"

"Who?"

"I'm Matthew."

*time skip*

That night, Canada was torn between regretting accepting Harry's invitation to Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party and being glad he had. On the regret side, the smells coming from the kitchens were simply delicious, and he doubted there'd be much in the way of food at a ghost party. On the glad side, he'd probably be able to miss out on whatever America was planning to do with a chainsaw and the hockey mask Canada had reluctantly given him at lunch. Still, not going was out of the question. He'd agreed to it, and Nick was probably really excited to have some living people at his party.

So at seven o'clock, Canada, Harry, Ron and Hermione walked straight past the Great Hall and all its delicious smells and made their way to the dungeons. As they descended into the depths of the castle, Harry, Ron and Hermione started shivering and drawing their robes tighter around them. Was it really that cold to them? Canada had barely noticed a drop in temperature. As they got closer to where the party was being held, Canada heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous chalkboard. Not even he could think of something nice to say about it apart from 'it is not killing me with its sonic waves'.

"Is that supposed to be _music_?" Ron whispered. Canada couldn't bring himself to give any sort of defence to the noise. Not that it made much of a difference, since they turned a corner to find Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

"My dear friends," he said in a voice far too gloomy for someone throwing a party. "And… er… boy who looks a lot like Alfred… welcome, welcome… so pleased you could come…" He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.

Canada had to admit that the sight was quite spectacular. Hundreds of ghosts, pearly-white and translucent, were drifting around the dungeon. Many were on the dance floor, waltzing to the sound of the … um… 'musical' saws being played by an orchestra on a black-draped platform. Black seemed to have been the theme colour. The stage, the candles, pretty much all of the decorations were black. Canada's breath had become foggy, and he was glad he'd developed such a resistance to cold, because otherwise he'd probably be very uncomfortable at the moment. Kumacackle seemed fascinated by his surroundings, walking up to a nearby ghost and batting a paw at her robes. He pulled it back quickly, growling at the sensation.

"Shall we take a look around?" Harry suggested.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously. That advice turned out to be quite useless for Canada. He did his best to avoid any incoming ghosts, but the ghosts weren't nearly as considerate. By the time they were halfway across the room he'd been walked through a dozen times. He was feeling rather shivery. He was used to external cold. He wasn't used to the cold of an imprint of a departed soul going through him on its way to the buffet table.

Canada's regret at coming to the party only increased as the night went on. Ron thought he'd spotted some food, only to find it was all completely rotted and would probably kill any living thing that tried to eat it. Then they ran into Peeves, which actually went a lot better than it usually did. Compared to his usual behaviour, he was downright polite. The conversation ended with him chasing another ghost named Moaning Myrtle, throwing mouldy peanuts at her and yelling "Spotty! Spotty!" And all throughout this, ghosts kept waltzing through Canada. He was starting to feel rather faint. Having ghosts walk through you couldn't be good for your health.

While Harry, Ron and Hermione had a conversation with the host, Canada was approached by another ghost. He closed his eyes, preparing himself for another walk-through. Instead he heard the ghost say in an old style of French, "Do I know you?" Canada opened his eyes and looked at the ghost. He looked about middle-aged, and he was dressed in furs that reminded Canada of the voyageurs of his childhood, back when he'd still been a French colony. _Uh-oh. This could end badly._

Canada decided to pull a leaf from America's book and play dumb. "Eh… I'm sorry?" he said in English.

The ghost sighed. "Ah, of course. My apologies. You couldn't be 'im." The ghost held out a hand, then seemed to think better of it and took it back. "My name is Pierre Bonnot. What is yours?"

_Yeah, this could end, really, really badly. _"Matthew Jones," said Canada.

Bonnot's eyes widened. "Hmm… 'ow curious. Ze boy I was zinking of was named Matthieu, too. I never learned 'is last name… Tell me, are you from Canada?"

_Really, really, really badly. _"Yes."

"Interesting… I zink I may 'ave met an ancestor of yours." Canada relaxed as the ghost continued, "I was a voyageur, you see – I went to Canada from France to work ze fur trade. I remember zere was a little boy named Matthieu 'oo used to 'elp us navigate ze rivers. 'E was ze spitting image of you. Always so polite… it is good to know 'e lived on to 'ave children. I… wasn't so lucky. It seems I was only able to return 'ome after my death." Pierre smiled at Canada and bowed slightly. "I apologize for taking up your time. It was very nice to meet you, Matthieu."

"You, too, eh," said Canada, feeling more relieved than he could ever remember feeling as Bonnot floated away. Now that he thought about it, he could vaguely recall the man. He'd been cheerful and always very nice to him. Canada hadn't known that he'd died. He felt a bit bad now. He felt even worse when yet another ghost sailed through him to talk with a friend.

It was at that moment that the Headless Hunt decided to make its entrance – right through Canada. His legs gave way under him, and he barely held onto his consciousness. His head was feeling too fuzzy to make out what anyone was saying, until he felt a hand – an actual, flesh and blood hand – on his shoulder. "Matthew, are you okay?" Harry asked, concerned.

Canada nodded. "Y-yeah, I'll be fine, eh." He got up to his feet, swaying slightly. Kuma was at his side, trying to steady him. He wasn't all that successful, due to his small size, but it was the thought that counted.

"I remember reading somewhere that having too many ghosts walk through you in a short period of time can be devastating to your health," said Hermione. "We should probably get him out of here."

"We should _all _get out of here," growled Ron. "I'm starving. Let's see if there's any food left over at the feast." Normally Canada would have objected, saying that it was rude to leave a party partway through without informing the host, thanking them for their hospitality, apologizing for leaving hearly, etc. Thankfully he wasn't feeling well enough to do any of those things, so he just blearily followed his friends through the exit.

"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way towards the steps to the Entrance Hall. Harry suddenly stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall. Canada was just going to ask him whether any ghosts had walked through him, too, but stopped. The look on Harry's face was similar to that of someone who'd just had a ghost walk through them, but that wasn't quite right.

Ron and Hermione glanced back at their friend, looking just as confused as Canada felt. "Harry, what're you-?"

"It's that voice again – shut up a minute –" Was this the voice America had told him about? The dread coursing through him now wasn't helping Canada's already jumbled brain. "Listen!" said Harry, with such urgency that they all froze. None of them could hear anything, and there didn't seem to be anything in the passageway with them. "This way!" Harry shouted, and he began to run up the stairs. A very confused Canada, Ron and Hermione followed him. Clearly he was hearing _something_, and while normally someone babbling about hearing a voice no one else could would have Canada suggest they go see a doctor, they were at a school of magic. Anything was possible.

"Harry, what are we-" Hermione began.

"SHH!" Harry was clearly not wanting any distractions. They kept running, and suddenly Harry shouted, "It's going to kill someone!" Ron and Hermione looked very bewildered. Canada felt his stomach lurch. He had no idea what was going on, but he got the feeling that they were about to find out why England had asked Canada and America to protect Harry.

Finally, at the last, deserted passage of the second floor, Harry stopped. The four of them all struggled to regain their breath. Kumagecko was looking miffed about being forced to run so much. "Harry, _what _was that all about?' said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything…" Canada was too busy struggling not to faint from exhaustion to say anything.

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor. "_Look!_" And then their eyes fell on the sight that would change the course of the year for the worse. Much, much worse.

**A/N: WHOOOO CLIFFHANGER! I'm pretty sure you guys know what they saw. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Once again, the Halloween chapter was chapter 13. Other than that, I can't really think of too much to say about this chapter, so let's move on to Q&A. Just a few this time. To Crossover Junkie: I am going to explain it next chapter! Just be patient, please, okay? To Berlin: Huh? Five hours and the one hour? That's weird, I'm pretty sure that didn't happen. I'm not THAT fast at updating. As for the drunken America idea, that might be fun! And then everyone could yell at Northern Ireland for giving someone underage alcohol. I'll see if I remember to add it in. For the second question, you really enjoy asking strange questions completely unrelated to the story, don't you? I guess I'd choose blue. NEXT CHAPTER: America has to send a lot of letters. See you all next time!**


	15. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14: HOGWARTS CHAINSAW MASSACRE**

America slipped the hockey mask over his face. It fit like a glove. It was times like this he was glad he had a twin with almost the exact same measurements as him. It was kinda awkward having to put it on over his glasses, though. And his cowlick was struggling against its confinement. _Damn it, Texas and Nantucket! Stop making things difficult for me!_

"Umm… are you sure this is a good idea?" Colin Creevey asked, clutching his camera and looking extremely nervous. He was Muggle-born, so he knew exactly what a chainsaw was, and had possibly snuck into a theatre to see one of the Friday the 13th movies or something.

America lifted up the hockey mask to give Colin an encouraging grin. "Yup! It's not mine, but it's an awesome idea! Erin always has really cool ideas for pranks. Don't worry, little dude, I'm doing most of the work. Just make sure to take pictures!" He lowered the mask again and hefted the chainsaw from the desk it was resting on. "All right, let's go!" America went over to the window, opened it, and jumped out. They were in an empty classroom on the first floor (man, Hogwarts sure seemed to have a lot of unused classrooms, didn't it?), so he fell barely five feet. Colin quickly followed, though he stayed a ways back as America charged along, head ducked, occasionally peeking up through the windows to locate his prey.

It seemed that he'd gotten unbelievably lucky. Draco Malfoy was walking through an abandoned corridor, all alone. _Bingo. _America leaned down, grabbed some pebbles, and threw them against the window. He stayed out of sight, so he didn't know exactly what Malfoy's reaction was. It was kind of difficult to hear through the castle walls, but America thought he heard a pause in the footsteps. America grabbed some more pebbles and threw them again. Yes, now he could hear the approaching footsteps. One good thing about pureblood wizards, it seemed, was that they had never seen a horror movie before. Because, really, anyone who had seen any horror movie _ever _knew enough about the genre not to approach a noise at a window, alone, on Halloween night.

Malfoy opened the window and leaned out. That was all America needed. He grabbed the Slytherin and dragged him outside. Malfoy let out an incredibly satisfying scream before landing face-first on the ground. America took the opportunity to start up the chainsaw. It took a couple of tries, but finally it began making that oh-so-sweet, eardrum-bursting noise. Malfoy turned over onto his back, took in the spectre before him, and started hurriedly doing that mixture of sitting and crab-walking America couldn't remember the name of away from him. America grinned beneath the hockey mask and started advancing. Malfoy couldn't see the grin, but even he seemed to realize that an advancing person with what was obviously a weapon was a bad thing. He stumbled to his feet and started running, not even screaming. He seemed focused on using his breath to pump his legs faster. America was a bit disappointed, to be honest. Ah, well. He started running after him, chainsaw held at the ready.

America ended up chasing Malfoy all over the grounds. It was never his intention to catch him, of course. He always made sure that his pace was fast enough to give Malfoy that feeling of urgency, but not so fast that he actually caught up to him. Eventually Malfoy made his way back to the Entrance Hall, and America knew that there was no way he'd get away with this if he actually went inside the castle. So, as soon as Malfoy went into the sightline of anyone looking out the windows, America veered away and ran his _actual _fastest towards the empty classroom he'd come out of.

America found Colin already there. He took off the hockey mask, brushing his hair out of his eyes and adjusting his glasses. "Did you get any good ones?"

Colin nodded. "Uh-huh. Um… do you think you might have gone a bit too far?"

America waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, please, I could have gone _way _farther without feeling I'd gone too far. C'mon, let's go on in. I can't wait to tell my friends about this." He gave Colin a leg-up through the window, passed him the turned-off chainsaw (which he handled with extreme care), and climbed through himself. He opened the door and poked his head out to make sure nobody was around, then grabbed the chainsaw from Colin and his both it and the hockey mask in a secret passageway behind a rather nondescript tapestry. He'd discovered that particular passage when he was hiding from Peeves – er, preparing to fight a ghostly menace that had left before he could heroically defeat it. Now, as long as Colin, Canada, Harry, Ron or Hermione didn't blab, nobody should be able to tell it was him. If Malfoy felt brave enough to tell anyone about what had happened, anyway.

He and Colin started making their way back to Gryffindor tower. They were hardly the only ones, since they soon encountered the crowd of students making their way back from the feast. The two Gryffindors seamlessly integrated themselves. Colin went off to meet up with some of his first-year friends, while America looked around for Canada or his friends. Then he remembered that they'd all gone to that ghost party. He tried his best not to visibly shudder. He failed.

He had ended up elbowing and shouldering his way to the front of the crowd. That meant that he was one of the first to enter that second-floor corridor that held a nasty surprise. The noise died away instantly and everyone else froze, for some reason. America wasn't sure why. He just saw Canada, Harry, Ron and Hermione all standing in the center of the corridor, looking almost fearful. "HEY, DUDES!" America waved and started walking over to them. "You will not BELIEVE what I just-" His eyes fell on the frozen cat and the message on the wall.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.  
>ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE<p>

"Oh." America coughed into his hand. "Well, this is kinda awkward."

Then someone else shouted. "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" Of course it was Draco Malfoy. He was looking _way _too happy about this.

America yelled back, "OH, SHUT IT, MALFOY!"

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Well, great. Argus Filch was now shouldering his way through the crowd. The moment he saw Mrs. Norris he fell back, clutching his face in horror. "My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked. And then his popping eyes fell on Harry. "_You!_" he screeched. Really, he was sounding like a Banshee. "_You! _You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll-" _Wow, he is _really _attached to that cat, isn't he?_

"_Argus_!" Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, along with what seemed like most of the Hogwarts faculty. By the time America managed to register how the otherwise rather badass scene was somewhat ruined by the fact everyone was wearing dresses, Dumbledore had swept past them all and was removed the cat from the torch-holder-thingy. "Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You four as well," he added, looking at Canada, Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Yo, dude, can I come along?" America asked, almost bouncing with excitement. "C'mon, please? Please? Please? C'mon, you know you want to!"

Dumbledore gave him a weird look and said, "Very well, Mr. Jones, if you insist." Everyone else was looking at him strangely as well. What? What was so weird about wanting to go with his brother and friends as they possibly got blamed for murdering a cat? It was an adventure waiting to happen!

Glinda the Sparkly Wizard decided to step in. "My office is nearest, Headmaster – just upstairs – please feel free-"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore. Suddenly America wasn't feeling so excited. But he was set in his course, and there was no way he was abandoning his friends now. The crowded students parted before them like the Red Sea and watched as they all made their way towards Glinda's office. When they arrived, America sniggered. All of the pictures of Glinda hanging up on the walls were ducking out of sight in order to hide the fact that their hair was in curlers.

The real Glinda did no such thing, sadly, simply lighting the candles on his desk and rambling on about how of course he knew what had happened to Mrs. Norris, such a shame, if only he'd been there to stop whatever fiend had done this to her, if only… Dumbledore, meanwhile, placed the cat on the desk and began examining her. This examination involved looking very closely at her and poking and prodding her with his fingers. America felt a bit disappointed. He'd been expecting magic, strange incantations, runes drawn on the floor, _something _other than how a morbid five-year-old would probably react to finding a dead cat.

Professor McGonagall and the bat-dude were the only other teachers who had accompanied them. McGonagall was leaning down to look at Mrs. Norris right next to Dumbledore, while Snape was looming in the shadows trying not to smile. Filch, meanwhile, was slumped in a chair by the desk, crying his eyes out. America felt a bit guilty just looking at him, even though he'd had absolutely nothing to do with whatever had happened to Mrs. Norris. He hated the guy, but… well… he looked so _sad_. Then he reminded himself that if Filch had his way, Canada, Harry, Ron and Hermione would probably be expelled. That squashed most of his sympathy.

Finally, Dumbledore took a step up in the whole examination thing by poking Mrs. Norris with his wand and muttering strange incantations under his breath. Yes, now _that _was more like it! Sadly, while slightly more impressive, it seemed to accomplish nothing. Mrs. Norris remained frozen in an uncomfortable-looking position. Glinda's ramblings continued, but America tuned them out. It wasn't as if they contained any useful information whatsoever.

At last Dumbledore straightened up. "She's not dead, Argus," he said softly. _Rats. I was looking forward to not having to deal with her._ Glinda stopped his boasting abruptly and stared at Dumbledore, the cogs in his brain switching gears almost audibly.

"Not dead?" choked Filch. "But why's she all – all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore. The way he said it, there was no doubt that it was petrified with a capital P. Glinda said something in the background. America ignored it and listened to Dumbledore instead. "But how, I cannot say…"

"Ask _him_!" shrieked Filch, going back into Banshee territory. He pointed a quivering finger at Harry. Dumbledore tried to reassure him that, no, no twelve year old could have done Dark Magic this advanced. Filch didn't listen, and started going on about how he was a squid. America was feeling really confused. Harry was, as well. Filch didn't look like a squid. He didn't have nearly enough tentacles.

At this point the bat-dude decided to stop looming in silence. "If I might speak, Headmaster." America exchanged glances with the others. The generally consensus was _Aw, crap._ "Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren't they at the Halloween feast?"

Canada, Harry, Ron and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the Deathday Party. America stuck his fingers in his ears and started humming, not wanting to listen to the description of hundreds of ghosts being in the same castle as him. Once he saw Snape's mouth start moving he felt it was safe to start listening again. "But why not join the feast afterwards? Why go up to that corridor?"

The Deathday party attendees all looked at each other. _Wait, now that he brings it up, what _were _they doing in that corridor? _ Canada softly cleared his throat and stepped forward. "I can explain that, eh." The teachers all jumped in surprise. They probably hadn't realized the quiet Hufflepuff was there. Canada continued, "A lot of the ghosts at the party didn't seem to realize I was there and kept walking through me. I wasn't feeling very well, so my friends decided to leave early to take me back to the Hufflepuff common room. They… didn't know where it was, and I was too tired to give them directions, so we ended up wandering around and ended up in that corridor, eh." Now that he mentioned it, Canada was looking rather pale and exhausted. _I still get the feeling that he isn't telling the whole truth… Since when did Canada get so good at lying?_

The teachers seemed to accept this explanation. "I see," said Dumbledore. "You should probably have Madam Pomfrey take a look at you." He turned to America. "Mr. Jones, would you please escort your brother to the hospital wing?"

America sighed. "Oh, _fine_, I guess." He wanted to hear the rest of the conversation, but he was sure the others would tell him later. He grabbed Canada's arm. "C'mon, bro, let's go."

As soon as they were out of earshot, America said, "Okay, bro, what was the real reason you were in that corridor?"

Canada smiled at him. "You know me so well, eh." He began telling the story of how Harry had started yelling about hearing a voice that was about to kill someone. It didn't take too long.

"So it was that cold-venom voice again? Did he have any idea where it was coming from?"

Canada shrugged. "He didn't say. We were so busy running, we didn't have much time to talk. And then when we stopped we were distracted by Mrs. Norris, and then everyone showed up, and you were there for the rest."

America sighed. "I guess I'll have to ask Harry tomorrow. Why is it that whenever something strange happens at this school, he always seems to get involved?"

"What, are you complaining?" Canada asked jokingly.

"No way, dude! So long as we're friends with him, we'll always have an adventure!" America remembered something. "Hey, have you ever heard of the Chamber of Secrets?"

"I might have read about it at some point, eh…"

"Dude, stop doing so much reading. D'you think this is what Iggy was talking about when he asked us to look out for Harry?"

"Possibly… he couldn't have known exactly what it was, otherwise he would have told us. Oh, we should probably write to him about this, shouldn't we?"

America shook his head. "No way, I am _not _being the messenger he shoots for that. You write to him. I'll be busy writing back Patrick and Erin."

They arrived at the hospital wing. They opened the door and Madam Pomfrey came bustling over to see what was happening. Her eyes widened as soon as they landed on Canada and she pulled him over to a bed, asking what had happened. As Canada struggled to get a word in and his bear jumped up onto the bed and curled up for a nap, America waved. "See ya later, bro!" And then he went off to bed.

**A/N: Okay, I'm sorry, I lied last chapter. I didn't reach the part where America actually wrote any letters. HERE HAVE HUGS INSTEAD! \(^-^)/ I'll have it happen next chapter, okay? Anyways, Q&A! To... oh boy... YOYOYOYOYOYOYOYO (sorry, your name is hard to spell): Yep, I've seen Paint It: White. I didn't know as much about Hetalia back then as I do now, but I've seen it. For your second question, Kumajiro, I guess? I dunno. To The Legend of Zelda Fangirl: ... ARE YOU A MIND READER? THAT IS PRETTY MUCH EXACTLY WHAT I WAS PLANNING! To Miss Booty Shorts Phantomhive: Um... I'm glad you like my Canada so much? That's just the tiniest bit creepy. But, yeah, I agree, basically every time Canada shows up in a strip I just want to give the poor guy a hug. Iggy should be showing up soon enough. I can't promise anything, but I think France will end up worse for wear. Also, OMG GUYS OVER A HUNDRED REVIEWS WHAAAAAAT! Thank you all for being so wonderful. NEXT CHAPTER: What I promised last chapter, sorry about that. See you all next time!**


	16. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15: POSTSCRIPT**

As soon as they all woke up the next day, America had Harry, Ron and Hermione tell him everything he'd missed. Apparently they'd be able to use the Mandrakes to cure Mrs. Norris, but on the bright side it would take a while for the plant babies to mature, so they'd have a while without having to deal with that blasted cat. Also, Filch was not a squid. America was glad they could clear that up. He'd been very confused.

Once he'd been satisfied by their responses and gotten the freshly developed moving photos from Colin Creevey, he sat down to write his letters. He decided to start with Northern Ireland's, since it would most likely be shorter.

_Dear Patrick,_

_ Thanks, dude! You're the best! There are some things I like about Hogwarts, and some things I really _don't _like. I like my friends, and some of the magic we learn is pretty awesome. And there are so many adventures you can have around here! Last year my friends and I fought a troll and stopped Moldyshorts from returning to power! And things are looking up for this year, because apparently some Chamber of Secrets or something has opened and the caretaker's cat has been Petrified with a capital P. Nobody's that upset about it, though, because we all hate that cat._

_ What I really _don't _like is pretty much the entire Slytherin house, especially this snotty brat called Draco Malfoy (I know, unbelievably stupid name), and some of the teachers. Potions is taught by this super creepy guy called Snape, though I usually just call him the bat-dude because he's more like a big-nosed, greasy-haired bat than a normal human being. And I've already told you about what they've done to hero class. But, apart from that, things are pretty okay. The food's much better than I was expecting. As in, I haven't passed out from it yet. No offense, but food _really _isn't a British specialty._

_ Thanks again for the broomstick and chainsaw! I'll use them this weekend._

_ Love, Alfred._

That seemed satisfactory. America put the letter aside and took out another roll of parchment, dipped his quill in his inkpot, and began writing his letter to Ireland (Republic of).

_Dear Erin,_

_ Thanks for the idea! I was just going to use the chainsaw on the broomstick, but your idea was _WAY _better! I'm including some of the pictures I got a first year to take for me. It was HILARIOUS!_

_ Apart from Slytherin house and the Potions and hero class teachers, I'm liking it here. You know me so well, I totally got Sorted into Gryffindor! You were a Hufflepuff? That's kind of surprising. Dylan doesn't surprise me, but I'd have thought you'd be a Gryffindor. Mattie ended up in Hufflepuff, too, so maybe you can talk about that or something. And, yup, they're using a hat now. How did they pick students back when you were here? I think I heard somewhere, but I forgot the details. I think it was in the Sorting Hat's song. Yeah, it sings. Kinda weird, I know, but it's already a talking hat. The way it works is that you put it on, it reads your mind and talks to you a bit, then it yells out which house you belong in. Then everyone cheers._

_ It's good to hear Patrick feels that way. I think Iggy does, too, but then again he's never been one to deal with his feelings well. I hope they work things out already, it's been years. And, yes, Glinda the Sparkly Wizard is absolutely _ruining _hero class. Everyone thinks the job is cursed, since nobody's lasted over a year for a while now, so I guess there aren't that many applicants anymore. I'm glad you hate him, too, I was worried you'd be like all the girls in my class swooning over him. He made the entire student body buy all his books, so I think that's increased his sales considerably. Seriously, why is it that Hogwarts never supplies its students with anything? We have to buy our own EVERYTHING. Back to Glinda, his lessons are pretty awful. The first one where he unleashed a bunch of pixies on us was kind of fun, but since then it's just been him re-enacting stuff from his books. All I've learned is that my friend Harry isn't very good at role-playing and that I would probably make a good pixie wrangler._

_ About the paperwork, I'm not sure you'd be able to pull it off. While my constitution or whatever was being written, my bosses made it specifically so that the government can function without my input. I'm not sure why, I was out in the woods trying to make friends with a bear at the time. My boss sends me the occasional form to fill out when he really needs to, but apart from that things are going fine without me. I don't think any of you old folks have that luxury, so it looks like you'll have to just work through that hangover._

_ I hope the pictures give you a good laugh, because the kid _really _deserved it._

_ Love, Alfred._

_ P.S. Oh, I should probably also mention that something called the Chamber of Secrets has been opened and a super mean cat got Petrified. It seems like an adventure waiting to happen!_

America used a paperclip to attach the photos, folded up the letters, and set off for the Owlery at a brisk pace. He had classes today, so he needed to hurry if he didn't want to be late.

When he arrived he saw Canada looking out the window at a departing owl. "YO, CANADIA, 'SUP?" Canada and all the assembled owls gave a jump of surprise and turned to look at him.

Canada was looking as angry as America had ever seen him, which wasn't much. "Don't call me that! We're only supposed to use our human names, remember?"

America rolled his eyes. "C'mon, bro, it's just the two of us! There's nobody around!"

"We don't know that!" Canada tried to yell, but it came out as more of a stage-whisper. "Somebody could be hiding, or our voices could carry. We can't risk that. As long as we're in this castle, we're just Alfred and Matthew, all right?"

America sighed. "Fiiine, no need to get so upset. You really can't pull of anger very well, Mattie."

Canada deflated somewhat. "I know. I'm sorry for snapping at you. I'm still not feeling a hundred percent after all those ghosts used me as a shortcut."

"Man, that sounds kinda terrifying, bro." America shuddered. "If it was me, I never would have even entered that room." Canada suddenly smirked. "What? What's that look for?"

Canada's smirk grew into a smile that America definitely didn't like. "So you're saying I'm braver than you, eh?"

"What- NO! I never said that! The hero is braver than anybody!"

"You just said you didn't have the balls to even go into a room when I was perfectly capable of walking into it."

"NO! I didn't say that! Stop putting words in my mouth!"

"Why would I need to do that when the words that fall out of it are so easy to use, eh."

"STOP IT! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE NICE ONE!"

"Look out, I think I see a ghost. oooOOOOOOoooOOOOOh!"

"I HATE YOU!"

**A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Short chapter today, but, look, an explanation for why America and Canada call each other by their human names even when they're alone! Now to Q&A! To Natekleh: I like questions! 1) I honestly have no idea. I'm making things up as I go along for the most part. 2) I'm planning to! My future self will hate me for saying it, but I plan to do all seven books! To Ahdaze (not really a question): Aww, what do you feel stupid about? Was it something I did? Did I forget something? I'M SORRY! PLEASE DON'T BE SAD YOU'RE WONDERFUL! To Berlin: Random ideas are the best ideas. I'd rather read books. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before, but Hetalia is the only anime I've ever really watched, while I have read WAAAAAY too many books than is probably good for me. To SilentMoonlace13: France is probably going to show up again before the fourth book, but I'm planning on him having a pretty major part in Goblet of Fire, so you can look forward to that! No need to apologize. To MissAmerica13: I'm not planning on having any nations get petrified at the moment, but that could easily change as I'm writing. And America is a parselmouth? 0.o When did that happen? That could throw a kink into my plans. NEXT CHAPTER: England receives a nasty surprise. See you all next time!**


	17. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16: A NOT-SO UNITED KINGDOM**

England's day didn't start well and it went downhill from there. It was November 1st, so of course he woke up with a hangover. It was a Halloween party with France attending, what was he supposed to do, stay completely sober? Well, at least someone had taken him home, and he seemed to be wearing all his clothes, so it could have been worse.

Then he entered the kitchen to get a glass of water and groaned. "Oh, no, I am _way _too hung-over to deal with this."

Scotland grinned evilly at him, pulling the cigar from between his teeth. "Ach, is that really how ye're goin' tae greet the big brother that dragged yer sorry ass home?"

"Yes. And get your feet off the table." As Scotland rolled his eyes and completely ignored the request, England got himself some water. Once he'd taken a few gulps he turned to glare at the red-headed country. "How is it that you're able to drink enough whisky to kill a mortal and wake up the next day fresh as a daisy?"

Scotland's grin only widened. "Sorry, little brother, but I enjoy watching ye suffer far tae much tae tell ye my secrets."

England opened his mouth to make a retort when something tapped at the window. Both countries looked over to see an owl perched just outside the window, a letter clamped in its beak. England found himself wincing at the light. "Ugh… Scotland, mind getting that?"

Scotland rolled his eyes again. "Ye cannae even get yer own mail noo?" Despite his protests he got up and opened the window. The owl flew inside, dropping the letter on the counter beside England. Scotland pulled some owl treats out of his pocket (England had no idea exactly why he carried owl treats around) and fed the bird. It let out an appreciative hoot, gave his finger an affectionate nip, and flew away again.

England opened the letter and recognized Canada's handwriting. "Oh, it's from-" His voice faltered as he saw the term 'Chamber of Secrets'. Once it returned he let out a swear that made even Scotland jump and stare at him in astonishment.

_Dear Arthur,_

_ It looks like you were right. Something bad is happening at Hogwarts. I feel like I'll need to tell you the full story._

_ Harry, Ron, Hermione and I spent Halloween evening at the Gryffindor ghost's Deathday Party. The ghosts didn't see me and kept walking through me, so I wasn't feeling well and we left early. Then Harry started freaking out because he could hear a voice. He heard the same voice a little while ago while he was in detention. The rest of us couldn't hear anything, but Harry was really getting worked up over it and started following it, so we went with him. Apparently it was talking about killing someone. Eventually we reached a corridor on the second floor and found a message written on the wall in blood. It said 'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware.' And beneath the message the caretaker's cat was hanging from a torch bracket. Apparently she'd been Petrified._

_ The teachers were all freaking out about it. I vaguely recall maybe reading about something called the Chamber of Secrets, but I can't remember anything specific. Do you know anything about it? Professor Sprout has some Mandrakes, and once they mature Professor Snape will make an antidote for Mrs. Norris (that's the cat), so it's not like it's irreversible, but it's still troubling. A Slytherin called Draco Malfoy seemed to know something about it, because he yelled, 'You'll be next, Mudbloods!' That should tell you a lot about his personality._

_ Please respond soon._

_ Love, Matthew._

England threw the letter onto the counter and continued his swearing, his voice growing louder and louder as his panic mounted. _The Chamber of Secrets?! First Hogwarts decides to hold the Philosopher's Stone, now the Chamber of Secrets opens? Why does the universe hate me so much?!_

Scotland, obviously curious as to what had caused this bout of swearing, picked up the letter and started reading it. As he read his mouth dropped open, the cigar falling out of it and landing on the floor. It might have been comical if England hadn't been in the middle of a meltdown. Once Scotland had finished he joined England in his swearing. This went on for a very long time. Eventually they ran out of English swears and had to switch languages. Scotland went to Gaelic, while England went to an ancient Brythonic language lost to time.

They were just running out of swears in those languages, too, when a huge crash came from upstairs, as if someone had dropped a set of encyclopaedias. An angry voice with a familiar, almost sing-song accent yelled, "WOULD YOU TWO SHUT UP? I'M TRYING TO SLEEP HERE!"

England and Scotland had gone quiet at the large crash. Scotland spoke up first. "Sorry, Wales! We'll try tae keep it doon!"

"You'd better!" They heard a bit of grumbling in Welsh, then silence.

England raised an eyebrow at Scotland. "Why is Wales here?"

"Oh, he got drunk, too. You two are such lightweights, I'm amazed ye even bother drinkin' at all." Scotland rubbed his forehead. "Chamber o' Secrets… ach, this is bad."

"That's an understatement." England sat down in a chair at the table and put his face in his hands. He'd calmed down a bit, but he still felt like grabbing a pillow and screaming into it until his voice broke. He did his best to regain some semblance of composure and looked over at Scotland. "Did you sense anything? Hogwarts is on your territory, after all."

Scotland sat down across from him, Canada's letter still in his hands. Any trace of levity had vanished from his expression. Things had gotten serious. "Noo that I think aboot it, I felt… somethin'… back in September. At the time, I thought it was just somethin' I ate, but lookin' back… I felt somethin' like it the last time the Chamber opened…" Scotland's eyes narrowed at England. "Ye still havnae told me whut's in there."

England stared down at his hands. _Blast Slytherin and his paranoia… _Of course England knew of the basilisk lurking beneath the castle, waiting for the day she could be unleashed to purge Hogwarts of Muggle blood. He'd sat in that Chamber hundreds of times, along with the rest of his house at the time, as they learned Dark Arts the other founders would never have condoned… But Salazar Slytherin had been nothing if not cunning. On the day they'd watched the birth of his basilisk, he'd made sure each and every student who knew of the serpent forged an Unbreakable Vow to never reveal the existence of the Chamber or its monster.

England could break it and live, of course. He was a nation. But there would be a price. A price he couldn't bring himself to pay at the moment. _America and Canada are there, too, and those kids are too nosy for their own good. They'll figure it out. _He looked up at Scotland, steeling his expression to make it clear he would brook no argument. "I'll tell you what I told you last time. I wish I could tell you, but I'm afraid I cannot." _I just hope there will be a lot of reflective surfaces at Hogwarts this year…_

Scotland sighed and pulled a cigar and lighter out of his pocket. "Fine. Be like that. But if it's one o' my people who dies this time, it isnae gonnae be pretty." He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and lit it, the flame making his already threatening expression truly frightening.

England gulped. "U-understood." He checked his watch and nearly jumped out of his skin. "Aw, bollocks, I need to get to work! Mind writing Canada back for me?"

Scotland smiled again. "Sure! Have fun doin' paperwork and goin' tae meetings. I think I'll watch some TV, mebbe read a book. Somethin' not soul-crushin'ly boring."

England stormed out of the room, grumbling under his breath about what Scotland could do for all he cared. He had way too much fun reminding England of how much more fun his life was. Sometimes England was sorely tempted to give Scotland his independence and see how he dealt with the end of his carefree lifestyle. His expression upon seeing the massive amounts of paperwork alone might be worth it.

As he went through a day of paperwork and meetings and other activities that were soul-crushingly boring but necessary for his continued well-being, the Chamber of Secrets ended up being pushed to the back of England's mind. Hogwarts and the wizarding world seemed so far away in this world of legislation and political struggles. It was strange how the Muggle world was at the same time much more complicated and much simpler than the magical one. It seemed that, wizard or Muggle, humans always needed to create problems. Muggles just had to be more creative about it.

**A/N: Scotland finally makes an appearance, yay! I based his accent on the Nac Mac Feegle because DISCWORLD IS AWESOME! And Wales' voice makes a cameo. I'm still tweaking his personality a little bit, but in general I think I've got a good idea of what England's family is like. Onto Q&A! To Ahdaze: That's actually kind of hilarious. Maybe I should have America have a dream like that. I think I'm going to give him really weird dreams from now on. To SoulxMakaLover37: 1) Soon, I think. I'm not entirely sure. 2) THAT IS AN AMAZING IDEA! Can't promise anything, but I like it. 3) Yup, they're definitely facing it, and they'll probably be badly affected by it. I'm not sure what their boggarts would be, or what they'd see when facing Dementors... ah, well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. 4) I don't know, and EMBRACE THE HERO! 5) At this moment I am incapable of giving a spoiler. 6) Because fish like noodles. 7) Understand or understand not, there is no know. 8) Monkey waffle helicopter. 9) MY CURSE WORKED MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! 10) I mean a word used to show agreement or acceptance. Bye! To RussianMochi: I'm not entirely sure how I'll handle it yet. I don't think America and Canada will enter, but that could change if I come up with a good idea. And my favourite non-Allies/Axis character would have to be ZE AWESOME PRUSSIA! To Berlin: Uh, calm down there, dudette. I've read the Harry Potter books WAY too much, too. I haven't actually been reading many new books lately. Recently I've been more into video games, especially RPGs. I love me a good story between all the murder. I still get a lot of gift-cards for Chapters, though. For the other question... hmm... I'd say completely purple for a week. I've worked hard to get as pale as I am now. It's taken years of rarely going outside to accomplish this level of pastiness. That's all for now, thank you all for being so wonderful! NEXT CHAPTER: Canada gets Scotland's reply and everyone talks about the Chamber of Secrets. See you all next time!**


	18. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 17: LET'S SEE WHAT YER INNARDS LOOK LIKE**

Canada was delighted when he received a response the very next day at breakfast. The owl had circled the Great Hall a bit before seeing where he was, but once it did it dropped the letter in front of him. He barely managed to move his plate in time. Maple syrup-covered pancakes didn't make very good landing pads for letters if you wanted them to be legible. Slitting it open and reading it, however, Canada knew that his hopes had been too high.

_Dear Mattie,_

_ Alistair here. Arthur had to go to work, so I got stuck writing this. Not that I mind, of course. It's been too long since we last talked. Really, you're in my territory, you could at least have the decency to write. I'd love to ask you how you're liking it at Hogwarts and all that, but I get the feeling this is supposed to be a 'serious' letter, so let me tell you a little story that dates back to around the time we were all at Hogwarts._

_ You know the four founders, right? This story is mostly about Slytherin. He was never happy with how the other founders welcomed Muggle-born students with open arms. He didn't trust them, and not a single one ended up in his house while he was a teacher. Eventually he and Gryffindor had a huge row about it, and he stormed off and never returned to Hogwarts again. That's all the facts we know. From here on out I'm going into rumours. Rumour has it that during the construction of the castle, Slytherin added in a chamber the other founders never knew about – the Chamber of Secrets. I heard all sorts of stuff about it while I was studying – that Slytherin would take his students there to teach them the Dark Arts, that if you really pissed him off he'd throw you in there, lock the door, and let you starve to death, that the Slytherins would throw the wildest parties in there… And, most prominently, that Slytherin had hidden some sort of monster within, a monster that could only be controlled by him or his Heir. Once he left, those same rumours said that he'd sealed the Chamber on his way out, and that monster was locked up as well, waiting for the day Slytherin's Heir came to unleash it and purge the school of Muggle blood._

_ I always figured that was all a load of rubbish made up by Slytherins who wanted to make themselves seem scary. That is, until the Chamber of Secrets was opened about fifty years ago. It was a nightmare. Muggle-borns were being Petrified left and right, and the last one actually got killed. Hogwarts would have been shut down if a Prefect hadn't claimed to have caught the culprit – Rubeus Hagrid. I've met Hagrid once or twice, and while I still hold a bit of a grudge against him for trying to take away my Nessie, there's no way he is Slytherin's Heir. And considering that the student who caught him was a young He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I think we can safely assume he is innocent._

_ So, to summarize: This has happened before, it's being done by some kind of monster, and You-Know-Who is probably involved somehow. I know Arthur knows more than that, but every time I ask he just says, 'I'd like to tell you, but I can't.' Either he's being a complete arse, or Slytherin swore him to secrecy. Either way, I don't think we're getting any answers from him._

_ Sorry I couldn't be of more help. Now, if you'll excuse me, Dylan is still asleep, so I'm going to go practise my bagpipes in his room to wake him up._

_ Love, Alistair._

Canada sighed, folding up the letter. "Well, it's better than nothing," he whispered to himself. He looked over at the Slytherin table. Could one of them be the Heir of their house's founder? He saw Draco Malfoy talking to Crabbe and Goyle with that smug expression that made Canada understand why America seemed to punch him every time they interacted. _It's certainly a possibility… _He turned his gaze towards the Gryffindor table. Ron was talking to a pale-looking Ginny, Harry and America were chatting about something, and Hermione was already getting up from the table. Canada checked his watch. _That's odd… it's the weekend, and even if it were a school-day, classes wouldn't be starting for a while. She's probably going to the library to research something... Ah, well, I'll just focus on finishing my breakfast for now. _And so he did.

He'd started walking towards the Gryffindor table to talk to the others when America saw him, and the letter in his hand, sprung up, and ran over. "Heeeey bro, I'mgonnadothatthingwiththebroomstickcomewithmenow!" Canada barely had time to register amazement at how he'd said all that in one breath before America had grabbed him by the shoulder and started dragging him away. _Why is it that he always literally drags me into these things? _Kumajekyll followed them, looking vaguely interested.

Canada didn't even bother complaining as he was dragged towards Gryffindor tower. It never did him any good. Once they were out of earshot of the Great Hall he said, "So you want to know what the letter said, eh?"

"Yup! Plus, the broomstick thing. So what'd Iggy say?"

"Well, Arthur didn't actually say anything. Alistair did."

"Really? Why? Is Iggy sick?"

"No, he had to go to work and Alistair was at the house, I guess. You can just read it for yourself." Canada handed over the letter. America read it while he walked, and it was only because of Canada's subtle steering that they didn't crash into any walls.

When he finished, America exclaimed, "Well, that's not much help!"

"It's better than nothing, eh," said Canada.

"I guess… hold on, I need to fetch my stuff." They'd arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Canada plugged his ears while America gave the password and entered the common-room.

Once again it was just Canada and the Fat Lady. "Hello, again," he said.

The Fat Lady nodded. "Hello. Does he ever have _any _respect for what you might want to be doing instead of going along with him?"

"None whatsoever." Canada picked up Kumanano and hugged him against his chest. Sometimes he just felt the urge to hug something, and Kuma rarely complained.

The Fat Lady rolled her eyes. "Really, from what I've seen of him, he seems to think the whole world revolves around him."

Canada let out a chuckle. "It's sad how close to the truth that is, eh." Their conversation ended abruptly when America came back out, carrying a broomstick over one shoulder and a chainsaw under the other arm. Canada gulped. He got the feeling this was going to be a very one-sided conversation.

"C'mon, bro, let's go chop up a broomstick!" It took all of Canada's bravery not to run for it right then.

Thankfully they didn't run into anyone on the way outside. America decided to set up on the lawn near the Quidditch pitch, out of sight of the castle. Canada decided it was best to have this conversation before America was wielding a chainsaw. "We should tell the others about this too, eh," he said, as America worked to balance the Cleansweep on two large rocks he'd found somewhere.

America glanced up at him. "I guess… but…"

"But what? You know that they're so nosy it's bordering on suicidal, they'll just find out anyway."

"Exactly! So why tell them at all? Serves them right for keeping us out of the loop last year!"

Canada blinked. "Are you still upset about that? I thought you'd gotten over it, eh."

America shrugged, and let out a sigh as the broomstick fell from its careful perch. "Yeah, but still… Maybe we just don't tell them everything?"

Canada sat down on the grass, resting his chin on the top of Kuma's head. "Hmm… well, it's not like we have that much to work with, after all. Pass me the letter?" America complied and continued his attempted balancing act while Canada read through it again. "All right… well, we know Hagrid would never open the Chamber, so maybe we should leave that out… it would just make them suspicious… maybe we should just leave out the whole part about this having happened before."

"So, just tell them that Slytherin was a crazy guy who left a monster in the school to kill a percentage of the students? Oh, come on, I had it that time!" The broom had once again fallen to the ground.

"That seems fair, eh. And it wouldn't be too out of character to theorize that You-Know-Who is involved, would it?"

"Not you too! Why does nobody call Moldyshorts by his name? It's not that hard to say! And, yeah, it wouldn't be too much of a jump, considering what happened last year. GRRRAAAAHH THIS BROOM IS-"

"Alfred, you're twelve, watch your language." America rolled his eyes, but contented himself to unintelligible mutterings as he glared at the broom. Canada continued, "I'm still not sure about this, but I suppose we're giving them the necessary information…"

"Mattie, it'll be fine. VICTORY!" He'd finally managed to balance the broom. He picked up the chainsaw, and the way the sunlight glinted off his glasses made Canada hug Kumakoala much tighter. "Now, then… let's see what you're hiding, broom…" He turned on the chainsaw, and Canada spent the next several minutes struggling not to faint.

**A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is late! I got some serious writer's block yesterday, so I just restarted the chapter and managed to finish it. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Onto Q&A! To 95Jezzica: I dunno. I guess England's too proud to admit it or something. That seems in-character. And thank you! To RussianMochi: WA WA WA! SORE SORE SORE! IT'S STUCK IN MY HEAD NOW GAH WHAT HAVE YOU DOOONE?! That might be fun... can't promise anything! To SilentMoonlace13: It's fine! I'm just glad you're reviewing now! Hmm... I'd have to think of a natural way to do it... it's a possibility! I do love Italy. Also, social lives are overrated. To Berlin: That sucks. Ah, well, there are plenty of games for computers you can get! Umm... I guess blue lips? People would just think I was wearing lipstick, maybe. And for some reason that question made me think of something kind of funny I'm going to talk about now: I always laugh whenever those commercials for teeth-whitening products show up, because the person using them seems to have perfectly white teeth already, and using the product just seems to make them a very pale blue. That's it for now! I need to stop before I start rambling even more. NEXT CHAPTER: America and friends go into a girl's bathroom. See you all next time!**


	19. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER 18: THE BATHCHAMBER OF SECRETS**

America was feeling pretty good. He and Canada had learned a bit about the Chamber of Secrets, he'd made major progress on the whole broom-upgrade plan, and now he could have his revenge for Harry, Ron and Hermione leaving him out of the loop. He was pretty much over it, but it still bothered him a bit.

Speaking of those three, America spotted them walking through the corridor. Harry and Ron seemed to be practically dragging Hermione somewhere. "But, the library!" she cried. "I need to- the books! I can't-"

"Hermione, it's the weekend!" said Ron. "You need to take a break from studying! Get some fresh air! Feel the sun on your face!"

"YO, DUDES, SUP?" The three humans flinched at the sound and looked over.

"Oh, hello, Alfred," said Harry. His eyes shifted to the chainsaw America was carrying, and then to the bisected broomstick Canada was holding. "Oh, did you find out anything about how brooms work?"

"Yup! It was great! D'you think duct tape will work to fix it? I need to try out some spells and stuff."

Ron stared at him incredulously. "Tape? There's no way tape's gonna work on a broomstick!"

"Then you, my friend, have never seen the wonders of duct tape. OW! What was that for?" Canada had elbowed him rather painfully in the ribs, giving him a meaningful look. "Oh! Right! We found out some stuff about the Chamber of Secrets!"

The three of them stared at him weird. Hermione spoke first, saying, "How? I've been looking through the library, but I couldn't find anything! Did you bring a copy of _Hogwarts: A History?_"

America shook his head. "Nah. We just sent a letter to Iggy, he knows a lot about stuff like this. Though the response we got was actually from his brother, who didn't know as much, but apparently Iggy couldn't tell us anyway, and it's kinda complicated."

"His brother?" asked Hermione. "Is this the same brother that sent you a chainsaw?"

"Nope, that was Patrick, I'm talking about Alistair."

"So?" said Harry. "What did you learn?"

America looked at Canada. "Bro, you're the one who always seems to be explaining things! Mattie, I choose you!" He pushed Canada forward.

Canada took a moment to regain his balance, then said, "According to Alistair, the Chamber of Secrets is, well, a secret chamber that was created by Salazar Slytherin when Hogwarts was built. He left the school after a huge fight with Godric Gryffindor about whether or not Muggle-borns should be allowed to attend, but before he left he sealed the Chamber and the monster that was inside it. Only his Heir can open it and unleash the monster to purge the school. That's pretty much it, eh."

Harry, Ron and Hermione were all silent for a few moments. Then they seemed to regain their voices and used them to ask a deluge of questions.

"What sort of monster?"

"Who is his Heir?"

"Why don't I remember reading this in _Hogwarts: A History_?"

America held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there, dudes. Harry, we have no idea what kind of monster it is. All we know about it is that it can somehow Petrify people. Ron, we have no idea who the Heir is. It's probably a Slytherin, though, being his Heir and all. And Hermione, all of that stuff is pretty much pure rumour and legend. From the paragraph of _Hogwarts: A History _I read, it's based on facts. But there don't really seem to be many proven facts about the Chamber, so we'll have to settle for rumours."

What followed was a long conversation about what the monster might be ("Maybe that's what you've been hearing, Harry?" "Then why can only I hear it? And it must be invisible, since I wasn't able to see it…"), who the Heir might be ("It's gotta be someone in Slytherin, right? I mean, if someone was a relative of the founder, wouldn't they be put in that house?" "There's no guarantee… but Slytherin does seem the most likely place…"), and other things related to the Chamber of Secrets. At some point they started walking, maybe hoping that the movement would help them think.

America remembered that other factoid he and Canada had agreed to bring up. "Hey, you dudes don't think Moldyshorts is behind this, do you?"

"Moldy- Oh, right, _him_." Harry shook his head. "No, I don't think so. When Dobby warned me about something happening at Hogwarts, You-Know-Who was the first culprit I thought of. Dobby said it wasn't him, though, and since that was just about the only thing he could tell me without hitting himself on the head with a lamp, I think he was being honest. He was being kind of weird about it, though."

Ron rolled his eyes. "That could have just been him being kind of weird _period_."

"All right… so Moldyshorts isn't behind it…" It looked like Scotland had been wrong. If Moldyshorts had been the Heir to open the Chamber last time, who could it be this time? It had to be a relative, surely… did he have some secret child attending Hogwarts right at this very moment, a child who wanted to make Daddy proud? Or maybe it was just a distant cousin or something…

While America was lost in thought, they turned the corner and found themselves in the corridor where the attack had happened. All that had changed since Halloween was that Mrs. Norris wasn't hanging from the torch holder-thingy, and there was an empty chair sitting beneath the blood-red message. "That's where Filch has been keeping guard," Ron muttered.

America grinned. "Dudes, it's a sign! A sign that we need to investigate!" He put down the chainsaw and reached for his bag. Unfortunately, it seemed he'd left it back in Gryffindor tower. _Damn it. Looks like I won't be able to use my trusty magnifying glass…_

Harry shrugged. "Can't hurt to have a poke around." He dropped his bag and got on his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues. America followed suit.

They didn't find that much. America found some scorch marks ("Dudes, maybe it's a dragon!" "I think we'd notice a dragon in the castle, Alfred."), and Hermione spotted some spiders struggling to get outside, which lead to them finding out Ron suffered from arachnophobia. Then Harry said, "Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

"It was about here," said Ron, recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch's chair and pointing. "Level with this door." He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned.

"Whoa, dude, did someone sear the doorknob?" gasped America.

"Can't go in there," said Ron gruffly. "That's a girl's toilet."

"Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there," said Hermione, standing up and coming over. "That's Moaning Myrtle's place. Come on, let's have a look."

"All right! I'll take the lead! CHAARRGGEEE!" And so, ignoring the large 'Out of Order' sign, America charged into the bathroom. It was the single gloomiest, most depressing bathroom America had ever set foot in, and he'd set foot in a lot of bathrooms. The mirror was cracked and dirty, the sinks were chipped, the floor was damp and reflected the half-hearted light given off by the dying stubs of a few ancient candles, and the wooden doors to the cubicles were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges. _Well, at least there isn't vomit anywhere. _Actually, now that he thought of it, he _had _come across more depressing bathrooms.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off towards the end cubicle. When she reached it she said, "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"

America went over to see who Hermione was talking to (he hadn't met anyone by the name of Myrtle yet), and stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes fell on her. Myrtle had one of the glummest faces America had ever seen, hidden by lank hair and pearly glasses. Then he realized that it wasn't just the glasses that were pearly. "AAAAAAAHHH GHOOOOOOST WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS HERMIONE WHYYYYY YOU'RE A HORRIBLE FRIEND! STRATEGIC RETREEEEEEAAAAAAT!" America valiantly sprinted all the way back to Gryffindor tower, just barely remembering to pick up his chainsaw along the way.

When he arrived in front of the Fat Lady she gave him a very strange look. "Why is it that you can never make a normal entrance?" she asked.

America felt much better now that he was away from any ghosts. He grinned and hefted the chainsaw heroically. "Because I'm the hero!"

**A/N: Meh, I don't feel super great about this chapter. Ah, well. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Now for Q&A. To Actual God: That could be fun. America may get most of the attention, but Canada is strong when he needs to be. I'd just have to think of an insult that would really hit home for America without triggering his 'IMMA BEAT YOUR FACE IN' response. To Natekleh: I don't think so. America and Canada are heading home for the holidays to catch up on things and go to the Nation Christmas party. To MissAmerica13: Pretty sure I didn't write that. It can be a bit confusing to keep things straight when you read a lot of similar fanfics. I was thinking of having England be a Parseltongue (he's very gifted with the Dark Arts, and talking to snakes is generally considered Dark), but apart from that I don't think anyone else is. To RussianMochi: Pictonian Voldemort... I think that if someone did a spontaneous musical number in front of Moldyshorts, he would either kill them instantly or just be so confused that they had time to run away. And Canada getting Petrified? That would be really sad, and would definitely give America some motivation, but I've got my own ideas on what happens when a Nation looks a Basilisk in the eye... *evil snicker*. To Berlin: OH GOD THAT IS SO SAD ROMANO NOOO IT'S YOUR LITTLE BROTHER DON'T DO IT! I've never actually read Hunger Games or seen the movies, and I don't think I will any time soon, since my Mom and sister have pretty much completely spoiled it for me. You'll have to forgive me if I don't read your fic... the feels would just be too much... It would be like that time I watched a playthrough of HetaOni all over again... Anyways, underwater or in the skies... hmm... that just makes me think of the BioShock series... Rapture or Columbia... I think I'd go with the place in the sky, because PEGASUS! Plus Columbia is ****_slightly _****less dystopian than Rapture. Yes... Christmas break is almost here... happiness and cheer... NO NO MUSICAL NUMBERS! BAD ME, BAD! *whacks self with lamp* And yes, I think America will figure it out. He's pretty smart about these sorts of things, or at least in my headcanon he is. NEXT CHAPTER: America upgrades a broom. See you all next time!**


	20. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER 19: SO GENIUS, YET SO DUMB**

America looked down at the broomstick lying on the common-room floor. It was George Weasley's, a Cleansweep Five… its owner was currently sitting in a chair nearby, looking a bit nervous. "You know what you're doing, right?" he asked. "I don't think I can get a new broom in time for the match. Actually, I don't think I can get a new broom period."

America gave him his best encouraging smile. "Don't worry, dude, I'm the hero! Now don't interrupt me, or there's a chance this thing will explode." And so he started the process of upgrading the broom. George kept quiet, thankfully, but still refused to take his eyes off his broom as America muttered spells and tapped the broom with his wand. The Beater seemed to have to restrain himself from interrupting when America used a spell to make a small hole from one end of the broom to the other and poured a potion he'd made himself into it. It was fixed with a simple, "_Reparo!_" A few more spells later, America handed it over. "There you go, dude! Let's go try it out to make sure it doesn't explode."

George laughed, then upon seeing America's expression said, "Dear God, you're serious." He seemed less than ecstatic as they went down to the Quidditch pitch. Despite his obvious reservations, he got onto his broom and kicked off. He let out a surprised yell when it shot off faster than it ever had before.

America grinned. "VICTORY!" He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "YOU JUST KEEP TESTING IT OUT, I'LL GO UPGRADE EVERYONE ELSE'S BROOMS! TELL ME IF IT EXPLODES!"

Tracking down the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team proved to be a bit of a hassle. He found Fred first, wandering the halls looking for his twin. Next he found Oliver Wood and Angelina Johnson talking about tactics for the match – well, Wood was talking, Angelina was just listening and looking for a way out. Then he found Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell talking with a group of their friends. He upgraded all of their brooms and sent them to the Quidditch pitch to try them out. He hadn't heard anything yet, and any explosions those brooms had would be pretty big, so he assumed everything was going good.

Finally, he found Harry walking out of the library with Canada, Ron and Hermione. He wouldn't actually be upgrading Harry's broom; the design of the Nimbus series was too different to other brooms, his upgrade would be incompatible. And the broom was only one generation older than the Slytherin team's, he would be fine. "YO, HARRY, DUDE, I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU!"

The four of them all turned to look at him. For a moment they'd looked guilty, but that vanished once they recognized him. "Hello, Alfred," said Harry. "We were just getting that book."

America felt his brow furrow. "Huh? What book?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione all exchanged confused looks while Canada facepalmed. "Er… _Moste Potente Potions_?" said Ron. "Y'know, for the Polyjuice Potion?"

America's confusion only increased, and it must have shown in his expression, because Hermione said exasperatedly, "Good grief, Alfred, you were there when we were talking about it! You contributed to the conversation! You can't be _that _forgetful!"

America scratched his head. "Uh… nope, don't remember a thing. When did this happen?"

"Guys, I think you can let me explain, eh," said Canada. He turned to look at America. "We think there's a fairly good chance Malfoy is the Heir of Slytherin and the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets. You, Harry, Ron and Hermione all decided that the best way to find out for sure would be to get a confession from Malfoy. Then Hermione remembered Professor Snape mentioning a potion that can change your appearance into someone else's – the Polyjuice Potion. We can use it to impersonate some of Malfoy's friends and try to get a confession out of him. We just got the book with the recipe. Got all that?"

America adjusted his glasses. "Uh… I got 'Malfoy is the Heir of Slytherin' and 'impersonate his friends'. Are we using those masks from Mission Impossible? I _knew _there must be a spell for that!"

Canada buried his face in his bear's fur for a few moments. There was a faint sound, as if he was screaming but the sound was being muffled by fur. Then it stopped and he raised his head again, looking completely calm. "It's a potion, and I suppose that's the best we're going to get, eh."

"Probably…" Harry fixed his gaze on America. "So, what did you want to talk about, Alfred?"

"Huh? OH, RIGHT!" The reason he'd come here in the first place came back to America. "I just finished upgrading everyone's brooms. They're having a practise right now, if you want to join in."

Hermione stared at him. "Wait, you actually did it?!"

America smirked at her. "Oh, ye of little faith. I _can _put in actual effort when I feel like it!" His eyes flashed back to Harry. "So, you coming or not? Can't upgrade your broom, sorry, but might as well get used to working with everyone else."

Harry exchanged glances with the others. Wow, they were really getting good at the whole non-verbal communication thing, weren't they? After reaching some sort of agreement, he said, "We'll go take a look at the book first. I'll go to the Quidditch pitch afterwards."

America grinned. "Sweet! I'm gonna split, I think I heard a sound that might have been someone exploding. Later, dudes!"

**A/N: I'm sorry this took so long. First I had a bit of writer's block, then my Mom confiscated my computer, then I got even MORE writer's block... HERE HAVE A HUG AS AN APOLOGY! \(^-^)/ Seriously, this chapter gave me WAY too much trouble. It's probably horrible, but I really just want it out of the way. Sorry about that. Anyway, Q&A! To SoulxMakaLover37: As of this moment, that is exactly what he has been doing. Now that I know he's doing that, maybe I can leave him out of a few Canada scenes. I always find it a bit difficult to find something for Kumajiro to do in a scene. To Miss Booty Shorts Phantomhive: Glad you like it! And Hunger Games might have to wait a bit. I just watched all three seasons Sherlock over the weekend, and it's still clogging up my head. IT'S WONDERFUL EVERYONE SHOULD WATCH IT! Don't be surprised if I write a Hetalia/Sherlock crossover at some point. I'll read Hunger Games at some point in the future. Maybe I'll just skip Mockingjay and come up with my own ending that involves a lot less deaths. To RussianMochi: Yeah, I think America might self-exile himself from this little adventure. I don't think having a cute boy run screaming at the sight of you would do wonders for Myrtle's self-esteem. And yup, I heard about the World Twinkle. It's kind of a weird name, but I'm looking forward to it. Hmm... I don't really have any plans regarding Estonia, and I think I skipped over most of the Mochi strips, so I don't think that will happen. Sorry. STRATEGIC RETREAT! To Guest: Yup! All seven books will be done so long as I don't collapse from exhaustion or something. To Cat. I'm a cat: I've had a few thoughts about the 2Ps, but not too many. But, yeah, 2P!Kuma would certainly be a sight to behold. He'd probably be more like Nyo!Kuma (aka Kumarie), more vicious and scary than the Kumajiro we know and love. Yes, 2P!Kumajiro and Kumarie would probably use the Basilisk (I'm not even bothering with spoilers, this fic works under the assumption the reader has already read the books/seen the movies) as meat for their sandwiches. Too bad that if one or the other ever does show up, it won't be in time for that to happen. And mochis or kittens... Well, mochis don't seem to have claws, so I guess I'll go with them. To Berlin: It's probably going to take a while, but I'll explain later exactly what happens when a Nation looks a basilisk in the eye in this universe I've created. And as for the story, if you're crying while writing it, I think it's a good sign! If it's able to bring an emotional response out of you, then there's a pretty good chance it will bring a similar emotional response out of the reader! At least, that seems to make sense. I've made myself cry once or twice imagining horrible situations to put characters in, but I've never actually written any of the stories those characters belong to far enough to actually reach that point. So good for you for making it that far! Well, since you all seem to think I should, once Sherlock stops dominating my mind I'll see if I can remember to give Hunger Games a read. And favourite Hetalia character... there are so many, and I love them all. I guess I'll just go with AWESOME PRUSSIA! But I love all the rest as well. Is it just me, or was this Author's Notes a bit long? I don't know, I'm probably rambling, it's kind of late. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada watches the Gryffindor vs Slytherin match. See you all next time!**


	21. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER 20: AN ARM IS NOT SOMETHING YOU WANT DEBONED**

The anticipation hanging in the air was palpable at breakfast on Saturday morning. It was the day of the first Quidditch match of the year, and it showed in the students. Almost the entirety of houses Gryffindor and Slytherin were obviously fixated on their teams, giving encouragements and shouting insults towards the opposing team from across the Great Hall. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, meanwhile, were busy discussing which team they'd be supporting, along with the rumours that Gryffindor's team had received new, faster brooms. More than a few students had not-so-surreptitiously walked past the Gryffindor table trying to get a peek and come back to their friends to report that the brooms looked the same as always. This was pretty much always met with a response along the lines of, 'but my friend seemed so _sure _about it!'

This was the atmosphere Canada found himself in. Really, he just wanted to have some pancakes, but apparently fate had decided that today was the day people actually remembered him, and remembered that he was friends with Harry, so he was constantly being asked to confirm the accuracy of the rumours once and for all. At first he tried his very best to become invisible, but that didn't seem to be working at the moment, so then he decided to pull a leaf from Japan's book: Be polite while giving an unclear answer that is neither 'yes' nor 'no'. It seemed to work, since the people asking him questions walked away looking satisfied.

Kumaneuron was enjoying the attention, at least. Once people got over the initial shock of seeing a bear at the table, they'd always give him a pat on the head at the very least. Several girls started squealing and hugging him as soon as they set eyes on him, gushing about how adorable he was. Canada couldn't help but feel a bit jealous. Some of those girls were really pretty. Then he realized he was jealous of a bear and tried to squash those thoughts.

Despite all the interruptions, Canada eventually finished his breakfast. He checked his watch. _10:45 already?! Oh, maple leaf, I need to get to the pitch! _He grabbed Kuma from the girl currently crushing him and hurried out of the Great Hall. The weather wasn't particularly great, and it looked like there could be a storm later, but it seemed to be a long ways off. Harry would be fine. At least, that was what Canada kept telling himself.

He made his way to the stands and spotted America, Ron and Hermione all sitting together. He hurried over to join them, saying, "Hey, guys. How's Harry?"

The three of them jumped at the sound of his voice, but relaxed almost immediately once they saw it was him. "Oh, hi, Matthew," said Ron. "He was looking pretty good last I saw him. Those broom upgrades really brought up the team's spirits."

America grinned, clapping Ron on the shoulder with enough force to send him spilling out of his seat. "Thanks, dude! The Slytherin brooms are still a bit faster, but our team can make up for that with sheer awesomeness!" He glanced at Hermione. "Oh, come on, what did I do wrong _now?!_"

Hermione blinked in confusion. "Huh? I didn't say anything."

America pointed at her eyes. "You've got that 'You've done something wrong and I'm disappointed in you' look."

Hermione slapped his hand away and said, "I suppose you get that look a lot, then?" America nodded and she continued, "It's just… is this whole upgrade thing actually _allowed_?"

America nodded again. "Yup! I talked to Professor McGonagall about it. At first she said it sounded like broom tampering, but then I pointed out that they're already allowing a huge discrepancy in broom performance by having students buy their own, which I still think is a bad idea, so really all I'm doing is evening out the playing field. She wants Gryffindor to win just as much as we do, so she told me to go for it."

This time it was Canada who blinked in confusion. "You actually asked for permission before doing something possibly against the rules?"

"Yeah, well, the whole 'it's better to ask forgiveness than permission' proverb doesn't sound quite as good when you're talking to someone who can turn you into a toad." America scanned the pitch. "So when do you think they're gonna start playing?"

His question was quickly answered as the Slytherin team walked onto the pitch. The babble of discussion among the crowd transformed into a roar. Canada's first instinct was to clap politely for the sake of good sportsmanship, but nobody else seemed to have the same idea. While the Slytherin supporters cheered, the Gryffindor supporters, who seemed to encompass three-quarters of the school, booed and hissed. Torn between his natural politeness and his dislike of the Slytherins, Canada decided to just be very quiet and hope nobody would question his reluctance to show his loyalty to the Gryffindor team. Nobody did. When Harry and co. walked out onto the pitch less than a minute later, however, he felt free to cheer and hoot and holler with everyone else. The Slytherins' booing could barely be heard over the tumult. Or maybe Canada was just going deaf from standing next to America.

The state of his hearing aside, the team captains seemed to have shaken hands and were mounting their brooms. The roar of the crowd died down as everyone saved up their breath for when the players took off. As soon as they kicked off, the roar returned threefold. Everyone in a twenty-yard radius of America in particular covered their ears and shot him a dirty look. Once the initial cheering died down, there seemed to be quite a bit of discussion about the suddenly increased speed of the Gryffindor brooms. The Slytherins' jaws nearly hit the ground when Angelina Johnson sped past one of their Chasers at a speed her broom had likely never hit before. As the Gryffindor team proved themselves at the very least equal to their opponents, America's grin grew wider and wider until Canada was seriously worried it would go all the way around to the back and the top of his head would fall off.

As Canada watched, though, he realized something was wrong. In the games he'd seen last year, the Bludgers would fly around and try to knock players off their brooms indiscriminately. This time, however, one of them seemed very focused on Harry… Canada nudged America and murmured, "That Bludger seems very fixated on Harry, eh."

America watched the offending ball. "Whoa, you're right. That's so not cool!" He cupped his hands around his mouth. "HARRY, THERE'S A BLUDGER AFTER YOU, DUDE!"

It was hard to tell due to the distance, but Canada thought he could hear an irritated response of, "I'd noticed!" Fred and George Weasley were crowding him, obviously trying to protect him from the stalkerish Bludger. Unfortunately, this meant that the other Bludger and Slytherin Beaters were free to wreak havoc on the Gryffindor Chasers. George seemed to make a signal towards Wood, and within a minute Madam Hooch's whistle rang out for a time out. Both teams landed, and the crowd began talking. Some were still focused on the miraculous speed increase of the Gryffindor brooms, but most were talking about the Bludger's newfound obsession with Harry. It seemed Canada wasn't the only one who'd noticed. America shouting about it probably helped. Oh, and it had started to rain. Canada adjusted his robes. Maybe he should have brought his warmer one like a lot of the others had… but it wasn't that cold… he wasn't that desensitized to cold, was he? He had plenty of warm places… or at least places that were warm during the summer…

He was vaguely aware of America, Ron and Hermione talking about something beside him, but he was kind of focused on thinking of warm places in his territory. _It wouldn't be any of my territories, they're all right up North… the provinces, then… probably close to the border… don't I have some deserts? I seem to recall that nobody else really considers them deserts, though… but they're warm, aren't they? Yeah, I have desert-like places, it's not like I'm all snow all the time! Anyone who says that has clearly never been to Vancouver… so much rain… so much…_

He was brought out of his reverie by the sound of cheering. Oh, the game had started up again! He felt a bit guilty that he'd spent the time out thinking about his climate rather than trying to think of what was up with that Bludger or something. Canada turned his full attention back to the game. Fred and George were now focusing on the other Bludger, while Harry was performing a series of impressive acrobatics in order to avoid his newfound stalker. Canada reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around his wand. He was pretty sure he knew a spell that could destroy the Bludger, and he was trying to remember the incantation when he remembered three reasons it would be a really bad idea. One: The Bludger was moving around so much he was more likely to hit some poor student sitting in the stands. Two: If he did manage to destroy it, the match would be called off and he'd probably lose points for Hufflepuff. Three: He couldn't actually remember the incantation. He released his hold on his wand.

The rest of the match was extremely nerve-wracking. Canada was vaguely aware that there was a whole game involving the Quaffle going on, but he was so focused on Harry he barely noticed. He, along with every other Gryffindor supporter, let out a groan when Harry stayed still for a moment too long and the Bludger made a very nasty-looking collision with his arm. Judging from the way he was holding it, it was clearly broken. "Do you think we should stop him? He looks hurt, eh," Canada said to America.

America didn't turn his eyes from the game. "He's still got one good hand, he can catch the Snitch! COME ON, HARRY, YOU CAN DO IT!" America's encouragement seemed to work, remarkably, because Harry had started zooming at something with a determined look on his face. That something seemed to be Malfoy. Either he'd decided to take the direct approach in dealing with the Heir of Slytherin, or…

"I think he's seen the Snitch!" Either his noticeableness from breakfast had returned, or other people had seen what he'd seen, because everyone around him started cheering encouragements for Harry. Canada thought he saw the boy's fingers close around something golden.

"WHOOOOOOO WE WOOOON!" America wasn't alone in cheering, but as always he was the most noticeable. All around the stadium Gryffindor supporters cheered while the Slytherins looked as if Christmas had been cancelled. Canada considered feeling bad for them, but he was focused on Harry, who seemed to be crashing to the ground. Everyone else was too busy cheering to notice.

As soon as Lee Jordan announced the Gryffindor victory, there was a mad rush to reach the pitch. Apparently everyone else had noticed that Harry wasn't getting back up. _Well, this is a school for magic, I'm sure his arm can be fixed quickly, _Canada said to himself as he struggled to remain by America's side. His brother had a way of clearing a crowd. Perhaps they were pushed aside by his overinflated ego. Canada sniggered at the thought of America being surrounded by a bubble of pure arrogance, the people around him being pushed away.

Eventually they all made it to the pitch to see a sight that made Canada's blood run cold. Professor Lockhart, Glinda the Sparkly Wizard himself, was kneeling next to Harry, holding his broken arm and pointing his wand at it. "HEY, GET AWAY FROM HIM, GLINDA!" America shouted. Lockhart didn't seem to notice, and there was a flash of light. Canada gasped as the arm suddenly gained all the solidity of an empty latex glove.

"Ah," said Lockhart, clearly trying his best to rally himself. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the Hospital Wing – ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr. Jones, would you escort him? – and Madam Pomfrey will be able to – er – tidy you up a bit." Harry stood up with his eyes closed, clearly not wanting to see what Lockhart had done to him. When he opened them, the look on his face made Canada wish he had a camera before berating himself for being so insensitive.

As the four of them escorted Harry back to the castle, America said brightly, "Okay, so, your arm just got deboned. That's kinda bad. But look on the bright side, dudes! We won the match, and my upgrades totally worked without anyone exploding! I count that as a victory for our heroes!"

"Wait, you weren't joking about the whole exploding thing?!"

**A/N: I'm still dealing with a bit of writer's block, but I'm getting better! HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Don't worry, everyone, I'm fine! Things will hopefully be back on schedule. Now for Q&A! To RussianMochi: That never even occurred to me. Well, the twins are planning on going home for the holidays, so they won't actually need to drink it. I might have them bring it up now that you mention it, though. To Berlin: Hetalia panels? Where can I find these? I must know. Pig... COMMANDS me... sorry, random obscure Invader Zim reference. That happens sometimes. Aaanywaaay, yeah, 1st person really allows you to get into their head more. I'm using 3rd person here mostly because that's what's used in the source material, and also because it helps differentiate narrators when you switch POVs. And, ah, feels... FEEEELSSSS! For some reason suddenly I'm thinking of Journey, because that ending gave me ALL THE FEELS! If any of you have a PS3, you should play it. It only takes, like, two hours at most, but it's so beautiful and emotional. Without being too spoilerish, I will just say that I've never seen a better use of the vibrate function in the controller. Moving on. Russia and Germany are great, too, as I said I love all of the characters to bits. And yeah, GerIta is wonderful. REMEMBER GERMANY! REMEMBER YOUR LOST LOVE! FrUK is good for if you want a relationship where you don't know if they're going to slap each other or kiss. I'm not really into the incest stuff, too, but I can understand it. And Germano? Hmm, might explain why Romano's so intent on keeping Germany and Veneziano away from each other... I don't really know anyone else IRL who watches Hetalia, so I don't know anyone who ships them. Thanks for the compliment. I really just wanted to get that chapter out of the way. It was about five hundred words shorter than I would have liked, but I'm glad you liked it! Yeah, maybe blindfolding America would work. I dunno. My response to your review was just as meandering as the actual review. Happy holidays to you too! To Actual God: I'm glad you liked that line. I imagine that anyone who deals with America as much as Canada does has mastered the art of muffling their screams of frustration. And I think the Golden Trio are a bit suspicious of them already, but those suspicions have gone to the back of their minds in the face of the Chamber of Secrets and Quidditch and schoolwork and stuff. And having one of the Nations barge in during dinner would be pretty funny. I've got some plans regarding that... heheheh... oh, ignore my evil chuckles, it just happens sometimes. All right, that's that. I really need to stop making such long Author's Notes. I hope you all enjoy your Christmas break! NEXT CHAPTER: England receives some more bad news. See you all next time!**


	22. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER 21: SOME GOOD NEWS AND MUCH MORE BAD NEWS**

England was at work when the owl arrived. He was just going through a bit of paperwork when he heard a tap at the window. He looked over to see a handsome tawny perched outside, carrying a letter. It looked like one of the Hogwarts ones… _Please just be America asking for a new cauldron, please just be America asking for a new cauldron… _England went over, opened the window, and took the letter from the bird. It decided to hang around, probably in case he wanted to write back. It was quite well-behaved, as owls go, just perching on a cabinet and watching him.

England looked at the letter. Judging from the handwriting (or lack of it, he still seemed to prefer printing) it was from America. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, England opened it and began reading. His heart began plummeting almost immediately.

_Iggy,_

_ Okay, I've got some good news and some bad news. Let's start with the good news. Did I mention I was planning on upgrading the Gryffindor Quidditch team's brooms? Because I was. And I succeeded! Well, I wasn't able to upgrade Harry's, but his is already really fast. And because of me, they were able to win their first match against Slytherin, even though they all had Nimbus 2001's! Harry kinda got his arm broken by a crazy bludger and Glinda the Sparkly Wizard liquefied it trying to help, but that didn't have anything to do with the brooms, so if that's not a success, I don't know what is!_

_ And now for the bad news. There's been another attack, this time an actual human. It was a Gryffindor first year called Collin Creevey. It's too bad, really, he took some pictures for me during Halloween. Because of the whole arm thing, Harry was there when they brought him into the hospital wing. He also got visited by that crazy house elf from the summer. Turns out, Dobby was the one who stopped him and Ron from getting through the barrier at the train station in September. And then he enchanted that Bludger to focus on him like a crazy stalker. He's not very good at the whole 'helping' thing. He was trying to get Harry to go back home because apparently he's in danger because of this whole Chamber of Secrets thing. So it looks like you were right about him needing protection. I guess that's more good news, right? Right! Then Dumbledore was really cryptic. Nothing unusual there._

_ Anyways, as usual, Harry, Ron and Hermione are sticking their noses into danger. We think Draco Malfoy could be the Heir of Slytherin, and we want to get a confession out of him, so we've got a plan. Hermione's making a potion that is basically one of those Mission Impossible masks, but a potion, so that we can impersonate Malfoy's friends and see if we can get him to out himself. It looks like it's not going to be finished until Christmas break, though, so Mattie and I won't be using it. All for the best, probably, since they're brewing it in a haunted bathroom. Mattie has to blindfold me every time we want to go in there._

_ You know, this would be a lot simpler if you just told us the answers. You know them, right? Who the Heir is, what the monster is, where the Chamber is. According to Mattie, Alistair says you can't tell us. Can you at least tell us _why?_ People are starting to get hurt now._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Alfred._

England buried his face in his hands. He really, really, _really _felt like hurting someone badly right now. He should really get on the phone with Scotland to talk about this. It was his territory, after all. But right at that moment, England knew that if he called his brother now it would just end in a screaming match that got them nowhere. He needed to vent. His eyes fell on a name in the current tricky piece of paperwork he was working on. _France. Perfect._

He pulled a red envelope out of a drawer, made sure there was nobody outside the door, and started composing a Howler. It took a while. England had a lot of frustration, and France was the perfect person to vent it at. By the time he sealed the envelope, he was feeling much better. He tried to send it using the Hogwarts owl, but as soon as it heard that it wouldn't be returning home it refused. _I guess they train them to only take letters to and from the school… fine, then. _England opened the window and called out, "Flying Mint Bunny!"

The magical creature flew up to him, flying around his head. "Hi, England! What do you need?"

England held up the Howler. "Would you please take this to France? The owl refuses to."

Flying Mint Bunny gave the closest thing it could to a smile. "Okay! See you when I get back, England!" It took the red envelope in its teeth and flew off.

England waved goodbye. "Safe journey!" Then, feeling as if he might just be able to have a civil conversation with him, England picked up the phone and dialed Scotland's number.

It took about three rings for him to pick up. "Scotland speakin'."

It took a second for England to recover from hearing a friendly tone in his brother's voice. _Clearly he doesn't know it's me. _"Hello, Scotland, it's-"

"Ach, it's _ye? _What do ye want?"

Ah, that was more like the Scotland he knew. "I just wanted to inform you that there's been another attack at Hogwarts."

Scotland swore and said, "Who was it and are they still alive?"

"A first year named Collin Creevey, and he was only Petrified."

"Weell, at least he's no' dead…" There was a pause. "All righ', I just checked, and he's one o' yours. So it looks like ye can keep yer kneecaps in one piece." A nation could always remember the name of each and every one of their citizens if they concentrated.

"Thank you. I am rather attached to my knees." England tried to think of something else to say. He succeeded. "Do you think I should tell the others about this?"

"What, the other Nations? I mean, if ye really want tae, I'm not gonnae stop ye."

"No, that's not what I mean and you know it. The other Nations aren't going to care what's going on at the local boarding school, even if it is a magical one. _Especially _if it's a magical one, actually. Most of them have very minimal involvement in their wizarding communities. I meant Wales and the twins." The last word felt a bit odd. It had been a while since he'd said it in this context. For decades now he usually would have said 'Wales and Northern Ireland'. But even if she'd left the United Kingdom, Ireland still hadn't started up her own school of magic, so young Irish wizards went to Hogwarts just like young English, Scottish and Welsh ones. She was just as involved in Hogwarts as her brothers.

"Weell, the twins already know aboot it. America told 'em. They called while ye were at work the day the Chamber opened."

England felt all that frustration he'd vented start to return. "And you didn't even bother to tell me?"

"Why would I? They just wanted tae confirm it, and I'm better suited tae to that than ye. So, really, the only one ye'd have tae tell would be Wales." Scotland let out a low whistle. "Ach, he is _not _gonnae be happy aboot being the last one tae hear aboot it."

England rubbed his forehead. "No, he won't, will he… Well, thanks for the chat. Goodbye, Scotland."

"See ye, England." Scotland hung up first.

England stared at the phone. It made sense that America would have told the twins, of course. They'd been pretty close ever since the whole famine thing. So he should really tell Wales about it… boy, he was going to be pissed at being the last to hear about it. England had wanted to call him first just to avoid this. But thanks to America, it seemed that that plan was scuppered. _Might as well get it over with quickly._ He dialed Wales' number and waited in dread for him to pick up.

It only took two rings. "Who is it? I'm, like, in the middle of something."

England took a deep breath and said, "Sorry to interrupt, Wales."

"Oh, it's _you. _What do you want?"

England sighed. _I was hoping he might be in a good mood today… _"Why is it that everyone's saying that to me today?"

"Because you always want something. Now hurry it up, there's rugby on."

_Oh, so I'm interrupting rugby, too. _It took just about all of England's willpower not to hang up right then and there. "Hurry it up? All right. The Chamber of Secrets has opened." He quickly pulled the phone away from his ear.

It was a good thing he did. "WHAT?! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS OPENED?! THAT'S, LIKE, REALLY BAD, MUN!"

England put the phone back to his ear. "Thank you for your insightful comment, Wales. Truly, it is appreciated." He immediately berated himself. _Come on, he's going to be mad enough, stop antagonizing him._

"Oh, shut it." Wales' deep breaths crackled over the line in a rush of static. "So… the Chamber is open, is it. Who's been attacked so far?"

"A cat and a first year. One of mine, not yours, by the way," England quickly added. "No deaths so far."

"Good." Wales was silent for a moment, then he asked the question England had really been hoping he wouldn't. "Do the others know about this?"

"Er… well…" England really hoped his hesitation didn't give it away.

It did. "Oh. My. God. You have _got _to be kidding me."

"Wales-"

"No, no, it's fine," said Wales, in a high-pitched voice that said it was anything but fine. "I get it. You'd rather talk to Ireland than me. It's good. It's… all good…" England held the phone away from his ear just in time. "YOU STUPID JERKFACE I HATE YOU!" There was the sound of the phone being slammed down, followed by a tone that meant the call had ended.

England sighed, hanging up the phone on his end. "Well, that could have gone better," he said to himself. "Could have gone worse, I suppose. He's probably crying and drinking beer and ranting about how I don't appreciate him now… I should probably send him a gift basket or something… And now I'm monologuing. Great." The owl perched on the cabinet hooted. "Oh, right, I should probably write America back. And also stop talking to myself. That would be a good thing to stop doing."

**A/N: I think I'm finally back in the swing of things! Yay! HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ From the very small amount of research I've done on Welsh accents, apparently they say 'like' a lot? I don't know. If anyone knows more about any of these accents, please tell me. Have you guys seen the drawing of England's brothers Himaruya put up? If you haven't, you should. In this fic, at least, Scotland is the smiling red-haired one (he's been described as friendly, after all), Wales is the scowling brown-haired one who is definitely a tsundere, and Northern Ireland is the neutral-looking blond-haired one who is described as cunning. I feel like North has a sweet face, but his accent and demeanor is rather threatening even when he doesn't mean it. He's kind of like Sweden in that way, I guess. NEXT CHAPTER: America goes to Dueling Club. See you all next time!**


	23. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER 22: SNAKE ATTACKS TEND TO DO THAT TO A MEETING**

America hadn't been super hopeful when he'd sent the letter to England, but England's response was even less helpful than he'd been expecting.

_Alfred,_

_ You probably wouldn't understand why I can't tell you anything. Let's just say I made a promise to someone a very long time ago. As for this plan of yours, I'm impressed that Miss Granger can make Polyjuice Potion. It's rather advanced potionmaking. I'm not sorry to inform you that Draco Malfoy probably isn't the Heir of Slytherin. If the Malfoys knew that they were related to Salazar Slytherin, they'd probably be shouting it from the rooftops. This whole adventure most likely will get you nowhere. But you're going to do it anyway, so I don't know why I'm even bothering._

_ The only advice I can really give you is to make sure Harry is safe. You don't seem to be doing a very good job of it if he's already been horribly injured, so see if you can crank it up a notch._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Arthur._

_ P.S. You managing to upgrade the brooms is slightly impressive._

The postscript perked America up, at least. Compared to the feedback England usually gave him, 'slightly impressive' might as well be a gold-plated certificate of excellence. As for the rest of the letter, America was a bit annoyed that England seemed to be blaming him for that whole Bludger thing. How was he supposed to stop that? He'd been enchanting the brooms, not the balls! And what did he know about the Malfoys? Maybe they kept their Slytherin lineage secret precisely so that they could open the Chamber without anyone suspecting them! Yeah, that was probably it! Or maybe they didn't actually know, and Draco had opened it accidentally. But, wait, it had been opened fifty years ago, so maybe his dad discovered it or something, and then told him… There were all sorts of explanations that meant Draco Malfoy could be the Heir of Slytherin!

And so America remained undeterred from his course. He assisted Harry, Ron and Hermione in stealing some necessary supplies from Snape's secret stores without a doubt in his mind that he was doing the right thing. He didn't keep super close tabs on the Mission Impossible mask-potion, though, what with the ghost and all.

One week after that burglary, something else of interest happened. The Hogwarts staff, feeling that having a monster sneaking around the school Petrifying their students could be dangerous, had started a Duelling Club. America immediately signed up, of course, and that evening he, Canada, and what America had started referring to in his head as the Golden Trio, hurried into the Great Hall, looking forward to learning how to possibly fight off Slytherin's monster.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Hermione, as America cleared a path for them through the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a duelling champion when he was young, maybe it'll be him."

"As long as it's not-" Harry cut himself off with a groan, just as America did the same. Glinda the Sparkly Wizard was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of purple and accompanied by none other than the Bat-Dude.

Glinda waved an arm for silence and called, "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!" _I wouldn't call being able to hear you excellent. _"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions – for full details, see my published works." _Which we all own because you forced us to buy it, jackass. _"Let me introduce my assistant Professor Snape. He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin." _He probably just wanted to curse you and steal your job. _"Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry – you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!" _It's not him we're worried about. Actually, we aren't worried at all. We're all hoping you kill each other off. We'll probably throw a party afterwards._

"Alfred, you do realize you're saying all this out loud, right?" Ron muttered into America's ear.

America jumped. "What? I was? Oh. Whoopsie." He made an effort to better differentiate inner and outer monologues.

"Can't say I disagree with you, though," Ron admitted, his expression devoid of any kind of shame.

It seemed like whatever demonstration Glinda had wanted to give was starting. He and the Bat-Dude turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Glinda did, with a so much twirling of his hands even Italy would be amazed, whereas the Bat-Dude jerked his head irritably. The expression on his large-nosed face was reminiscent of Sweden, as in it was scary enough to make just about anyone want to run in the opposite direction while crying for their mother. Then they both raised their wands like swords in front of them, and America found himself getting excited at the prospect of Glinda getting horribly maimed.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Glinda told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"Speak for yourself, eh," Canada murmured, his eyes fixed on the Bat-Dude's expression, which was getting dangerously close to Russia's when he was legitimately angry. If it got all the way there, America was leaving before he got caught in the blast of whatever horrifying Dark Magic was on the way.

"One – two – three –" Both of them swung their wands up and over their shoulders in a way that seemed overly theatrical. Snape cried: "_Expelliarmus!_" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Glinda was blasted off his extravagantly-clad feet: he flew backwards off the stage, smashed into the wall and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

America cheered, though he stopped as soon as he realized Malfoy was doing the same thing. Hermione was dancing on tip-toes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through her fingers.

"Who cares?" said America, Harry and Ron together. America grinned at them. "Dudes, we're in sync! Insensitivity five!" He held up his hands for a high-five and received nothing but weird looks from the two of them. He glanced over at where Glinda had fallen. "Aw, man, he's getting back up." Sure enough, the Sparkly Wizard was getting unsteadily to his feet. At least his hat had fallen off and his hair was messed up.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm – as you see, I've lost my wand – ah, thank you, Mr. Jones." America shot a glare at Canada, who winced and mouthed, 'Sorry. Reflex.' Glinda continued, "Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…" _Uh-huh. Of course you did. _Snape was a hair's breadth away from angry-Russia mode, and even Glinda seemed to notice, because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me…"

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Canada, for some unfathomable reason, began inching away from America. The Bat-Dude reached the five of them before Glinda, and America knew that things were going to end badly. He was proven right when he started off by sneering, "Time to split up the dream team, I think. Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter-" Harry moved towards Hermione. "I don't think so. Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger – you can partner Miss Bulstrode. As for you, Mr. Jones…"

Before the Bat-Dude could get any further America grabbed Canada's arm. It was nearly out of range. "I'm gonna partner with Mattie!" Canada made a weird noise in his throat that sounded like a whimper. Why would he be whimpering? They did stuff like this all the time! It would be just like that time they played catch together!

The Bat-Dude gave Canada a searching look and smiled nastily. "Yes, I suppose that will do. Off you go." And he flapped off to swoop down upon his next unwitting prey.

America grinned at Canada, who had gone very pale for some reason. "C'mon, bro! It'll be just like playing catch!"

Canada whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, "That's what I'm afraid of, eh."

"What was that, bro? I couldn't hear you."

"Oh, eh, nothing."

"Face your partners!" called Glinda, back on the platform, "And bow!" America and Canada bowed to each other. Canada seemed to be shaking. Why was he acting so weird? "Wands at the ready!" shouted Glinda. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent – _only _to disarm them – we don't want any accidents. One… two… three…"

America moved first. "_Expelliarmus!_" he yelled, imitating Snape's wand movements. It seemed he performed the spell correctly the first time, which was an unprecedented incident that really deserved a cake or something. Canada's wand went flying out of his hand, and he was knocked to the ground. There was a nearby yelp of pain. "Oh, crap, sorry Neville!" He ran over to where Neville had been knocked to the ground by the impact of Canada's flying wand. As he did so he had to duck down to avoid a jet of what was definitely _not _a Disarming spell. It seemed that quite a few of the practice duels had turned into real ones, with the participants exchanging the worst jinxes they knew.

Glinda, for once, seemed to read the mood of the room. "_I said disarm only!_" he shouted in alarm. The room had become a battlefield. America found his progress back to Canada impeded by jinxes flying through the air and the sprawled limbs of people who had been knocked to the floor. "Stop! Stop!" screamed Glinda, but the Bat-Dude took charge.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" he shouted. The Hall went quiet. A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. All around, people were recovering from whatever jinx they had been under when the Bat-Dude came in to save the day. Harry and Malfoy in particular were still glaring daggers at each other, and Millicent Bulstrode had a whimpering Hermione in a headlock. America tossed Canada his wand and went over to rescue her. The strength he used to pull Hermione free had to be carefully calculated; on the one hand, he couldn't let his superhuman strength show. On the other hand, Millicent Bulstrode was goddamn _strong._

"I think I'd better teach you how to _block _unfriendly spells," said Glinda, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair -" His eyes landed on America. "Jones and… er… the other Jones, how about you?"

"OH, PLEASE GOD, NO!" Canada's frightened yelp took everyone by surprise. Upon noticing everyone's eyes on him, his cheeks coloured and he coughed rather awkwardly into his hand before saying, "Eh, I mean, I'd rather not, sir." America stared at him. Seriously, what was up with Canada today? He was acting so weird.

"How about Malfoy and Potter?" suggested Snape with a twisted smile.

What followed was _not _what America had been expecting. It had gone well enough at first – Glinda was inept as always, while the Bat-Dude was as sinister as always. Malfoy most definitely did _not _cast a Disarming spell, opting instead to summon a snake. Glinda's efforts to de-summon it only resulted in it getting angrier, and it started eyeing a Hufflepuff in the front row (was it Jason? Jason Parakeet-Arrow? America couldn't remember). Then Harry spoke to the snake. At first America thought he'd just gotten something stuck in his throat and was trying to dislodge it, but the snake listened and backed away. Despite no longer being faced with the possibility of having his face bitten off by a snake, Jason or whatever his name was stared at Harry as though he'd just pushed a gun in his face and yelled at him before storming off. America would have assumed he was just a jerk and ignored him, but everyone else seemed to be staring at Harry in shock and horror, too. The Bat-Dude de-summoned the snake, and the first and last session of Duelling Club ended very awkwardly.

**A/N: I seem to be slipping a bit regarding the whole daily updates thing... sorry, everyone. But, on the bright side, CHRISTMAS BREAK! WOOT! HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Okay, time for Q&A! To SilentMoonLace13: I accept your apology and cookies. OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM! If Italy shows up, he'd probably drag Germany with him. The GerIta would probably be subtle, since I don't really like writing super romantic kissy stuff. But I'm sure if you squinted you could see it! I love those two. To Berlin: I completely understand. That happens to me a lot, too. Thanks for the suggestion regarding channels! I tend to forget about these kinds of things, but I'll try to remember to check them out! Moms can be kind of annoying... Ah, well, keep your chin up! You've got a computer, right? There are enough good games for computers to last a lifetime! And it's fine not having an account! I'll just have to make sure to fast-approve your reviews so everyone can see you heap praises upon me faster! XP Oh, and for the actual question, I guess Germany. Prussia and Austria would probably give me some help. To Ahdaze: Aaaand the shipping questions return. Oh boy. As I've said before, I'm not really that much of a shipper, and I don't actively ship America with anyone. But I guess if I had to choose one from the list you gave me, I'd choose RusAme. "Shall I make your gums bleed a bit", anyone? To SoulxMakaLover37: I do a kind-of-sort-of homeschooling thing, so my schedule leaves a lot more time for writing. I) Oh... um... America about Dragon Age? But only after I play Inquisition! I don't want spoilers! II) You mean like leaving your notebook somewhere? It would really depend on what the place was. If it was somewhere with a lost & found bin, I'd probably check there. If it's a store or restaurant or somewhere like that, I might ask the employees (or at least I would if I were more social). Or give the place a call and see if they know anything... Getting lost property back is difficult. III) Now that I think about it, they didn't spoil TOO much. Basically, what I know is that Katniss and Peeta win the Hunger Games together because they were about to eat poisoned berries, Katniss ends up with Peeta, not Gale, and towards the end of Mockingjay pretty much every named character gets killed off horribly. As I said, I might just skip over Mockingjay. IV) I imagine France would at first be like 'WTF?', then like, "Ah, a red envelope, it must be a love letter!" Then he'd open it and be like "What ze 'ell, Angleterre, I didn't even do anyzing!" V) 42. It is the answer to everything. VI) Yup, that would definitely happen. Good thing it didn't. VII) Babysit Russia. He strikes me as the kind of guy where if someone is nice to him, he'll be nice back. I'd just have to make sure not to unintentionally insult him. OMMMMMM! NEXT CHAPTER: Canada finds out that even Hufflepuffs can be mean. See you all next time!**


	24. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER 23: SPOKE TOO SOON**

After the Duelling Club fiasco, a lot of rumours began circulating the school about what had really happened. Almost everyone seemed to be under the impression that Harry had ordered the snake to attack Justin, but Canada refused to believe it. Harry would never do something like that, and he hadn't even known what a Parselmouth was until Ron told him. And, unless his memory had suddenly changed, the order of events had been thus; the snake started eyeing Justin, Harry talked to it, the snake backed down. It would make sense to infer that Harry had ordered it to back down. And the correlation between Parseltongue and the Dark Arts was surely just superstition. Canada believed in Harry. Hopefully this whole thing could be cleared up in the last Herbology class of the term.

Mother Nature had other plans, however, and sent a blizzard so thick even Canada had to admit going outside would probably be a bad idea. Herbology was cancelled, and with it Harry's chance to explain what had happened. On the bright side, they all had a free period. Canada had a bit of homework to catch up on, so he decided to do it in the Hufflepuff common room near the fire. He'd just started going through his notes when a loud voice said, "Jones, what are you doing here?! This is the _Hufflepuff _common room!"

Canada looked up to find Ernie Macmillan glaring at him. "Eh… I _am _a Hufflepuff, Ernie," he murmured.

Ernie's glare only intensified. "No, you're a Gryffindor! Stop lying!"

And suddenly Canada understood. "I'm Matthew, not Alfred," he sighed. "Everyone always gets it wrong, eh…"

Ernie blinked, and suddenly his angry expression was replaced with a rather sheepish one. "Oh. Right. Er, sorry about that, Matthew, but you _do _look very alike…" He leaned over to see what Canada was doing. "Are you working on Professor McGonagall's essay?"

Canada nodded. "Yeah. I was going to finish it a few days ago, but it was late and I fell asleep."

Ernie puffed out his chest. "Hmm. Well, I _did _finish it a few days ago, so if you need any help, feel free to ask."

Canada smiled at him. "Thank you, but I think I'll manage."

"Ernie!" Hannah Abbott ran up to Ernie. "Susan and I are heading to the library to finish up some work. Want to come with us?"

"Well, I've already finished all of mine," said Ernie proudly. "But I suppose I can come along to help you guys out."

Canada coughed. He wasn't trying to get attention, he'd just needed to clear his throat. It managed to get attention, though, because Hannah's eyes fell on him. After a moment of confusion, comprehension dawned in her eyes. "Oh, Matthew! You can come with us, too!"

This was just about the first time the other Hufflepuffs had ever asked Canada to join in on any activities, so he wasn't about to refuse. "Sure. I'll just grab my bag. Wait up for me, eh." He picked up his work and ran up to the dormitory.

As he entered there was a thud, as if someone had suddenly dropped down to the floor. He frowned, scanning the room with his eyes. "Hello?"

Justin Finch-Fletchley poked his head up from behind his bed, obviously looking relieved. "Oh, good it's just… er…" His voice trailed off.

"Matthew," Canada provided. "What are you doing in here, Justin?"

"Oh, er, um, nothing!" said Justin in a stupendously unconvincing way.

"Eh, all right, then." Canada grabbed his bag from his own bedside table and somewhat awkwardly went back to the common room. It seemed that in the short time it had taken him to have that little chat, Ernie and Hannah had managed to wrangle a few more students to join their impromptu study group.

"All right, then, let's go!" announced Ernie, and they all started making their way to the library, chatting about the homework they'd work on.

"I'm really having some trouble with Transfiguration… even at the start of term all I managed to do to my beetle was make it a bit flatter, and that was because I accidentally put my elbow on it…"

"Did you write down any notes in the last History of Magic class? I tried, but I ended up falling asleep a few minutes into Professor Binns' lecture…"

"It's really too bad about Herbology, it's the only class I'm all that good at…"

And so things went as they entered the library and sat down near the back. Canada was amazed by the difference between studying with the Hufflepuffs and studying with his Gryffindor friends and America. Usually with the latter, America and Ron would be finding any way to avoid actually doing the work, Harry would at least _try _but often get caught up in the other boys' hijinks, and Hermione would be telling them all to get back to work. With the Hufflepuffs, they all seemed to be focused on the work. They talked quite a bit, but it always seemed to be about what they were writing. Ernie seemed to be the closest to a Hermione, giving the others advice and looking over their work. Whenever one of them remembered Canada was there they'd have him fill the same role. He was quite happy to oblige, though he quickly saw why Hufflepuff had a reputation as a house of dunderheads.

Still, through hard work everyone finished off their homework eventually, so they all started chatting about things other than schoolwork. Of course, the conversation quickly turned to the events of the Duelling Club. They all seemed to believe that Harry had indeed been egging the snake on, and that he was the Heir of Slytherin. Canada was so shocked that _anyone _could think that about Harry that he couldn't quite arrange a convincing argument in his head. At least Hannah seemed a bit reluctant to believe the worst of Harry.

Then, suddenly, just as Ernie began speculating that You-Know-Who had attacked Harry in order to eliminate possible competition for the title of 'most evil wizard of all time', there was a loud clearing of the throat from the nearby Invisibility section. They all looked over to see Harry step out into view. It was almost comical to see the colour drain from Ernie's face as he said, "Hello. I'm looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley."

The other Hufflepuffs turned to Ernie, who seemed to have become their de-facto leader. "What do you want with him?" Ernie asked in a quavering voice.

"I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the Duelling Club," said Harry. Canada wanted to say something here. He really, _really_ did. But the whole conversation was like a train wreck; he just couldn't bring himself to look away or interrupt.

"We were all there. We saw what happened," said Ernie.

"Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?" said Harry. Canada found his head bouncing from Ernie to Harry like a tennis ball.

"All I saw," said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke. "Was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake after Justin."

"I didn't chase it at him!" Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. "It didn't even _touch _him!"

"It was a very near miss," said Ernie. "And in case you're getting ideas, I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and wizards and my blood's as pure as anyone's, so-"

"I don't care what sort of blood you've got!" said Harry fiercely. "Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?"

"I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with," said Ernie swiftly.

"It's not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them," said Harry. "I'd like to see you try it." And then he turned on his heel and stormed out of the library.

Once he was gone, Canada gave Ernie a reproachful stare. "That wasn't very nice, you know," he said.

Ernie jumped a bit in surprise at the sound of his voice, but recovered quickly. "Why should I be nice to him?" His eyes widened. "Oh, your brother's friends with him, right?"

"Yes, and so am I," said Canada. "Harry didn't do it. He didn't do any of it. Do you need me to go through every reason?"

Ernie stared at him, clearly not expecting this sudden show of hostility. "What reasons? What proof do you have?"

Canada closed his eyes and took a deep breath, going through everything Ernie had said in his mind. "Harry didn't even know what a Parselmouth was until after the Duelling Club. He'd only ever talked to a snake once before, and that was before he knew he was a wizard. He probably assumed it was just a normal wizard thing once he found out about magic. As for Mrs. Norris, I was with him that entire evening. I would have noticed if he'd slipped off to send his monster after a cat. And with Collin Creevey, he was in the Hospital Wing for all of that night. Madam Pomfrey would have blown a gasket if he tried to leave. And going back to the whole Parselmouth thing, you seem to have forgotten the order of events. The snake was getting ready to attack Justin before Harry talked to it, and after he did so the snake backed off. Harry doesn't have anything against Muggle-borns. One of his best friends is one, in case you'd forgotten."

Canada rolled up his essay and put it in his bags. "I'm finished with this. See you all later, eh." He stood up and walked out of the library. Once he was sure nobody could see him, he leaned against the wall and started laughing to himself. He'd talked back at someone. _Him, _Canada, Mr. Overly Polite Nice Guy himself. It was oddly exhilarating. Was this how America felt all the time?

He stood there for a few minutes, laughing at himself. Then he heard Peeves yelling, "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!" And with that his good mood dissolved as if it had been dipped in super-strong acid.

**A/N: I think I'm getting back into the swing of things! HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Okay, Q&A! To RussianMochi: I don't think I've had much interaction between America and Percy, but he probably does think of him like that. Yes, the Axis coming to Hogwarts would certainly be an interesting day. All I shall say on it is I have ideas. To Ahdaze: AWW C'MERE! *tackle-hugs* That is all I had to say. To SoulxMakaLover37: It's absolutely fine! You're forgiven. Here, have a hug. \(^-^)/ i) Friday by Rebecca Black. ii) Hmm... I'd have to go with the Belarus plot. If Russia didn't want this kind of thing to happen, he should change his catchphrase to 'All shall became one with Russia except Belarus'. iii) I don't think I've ever heard anyone refer to it out loud as WWII. I think World War II is for when you're talking, and WWII is for when you're writing it down? That seems to make sense. iv) I'm not quite sure what to say to that. I think there's nothing wrong with being just friends with someone of the opposite gender. Is that good enough? v) So I'd have the life expectancy of a Grey Warden? Great. I'd probably go with being able to paint like Picasso, because then I could spend my remaining years being filthy rich. I'd probably call an occult magazine to give them an interview and get more money to add to my horde. vi) It's pure coincidence. Write your reviews however long you wish! vii) I've just finished chapter 11. I'm a bit more than halfway through the book. viii) I had to look up what cerulean was. I'd go with that. It looks like a very pretty colour. OMMMMMM to you, too! To Berlin: Wow, your electronic life really isn't conducive to gaming, is it? Ah, well, there are games for iPads, too! Have you tried Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney? It's basically a lawyer simulator, and I've only played the first two cases, but so far it's kind of amazingly silly. The first two cases are free, so you can just download it and play it. Now, for your actual question: Again, I'd probably go with Germany. He's so serious most of the time, it would be fun to see him let loose. Plus Prussia would probably turn up at some point. And yeah, I get it, I should read Hunger Games. I'll do it later. Maybe once I post the final proper chapter of this I'll just do a huge Q&A chapter. NEXT CHAPTER: America and Canada head off for the holidays. See you all next time!**


	25. Chapter 24

**CHAPTER 24: AVOIDED A SPIT-TAKE**

The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into real panic. For some reason it was the ghost's fate that seemed to make people freak out the most. America had to admit that it was kind of worrying to imagine what could damage something that was already dead. He was almost reluctant to head home for Christmas break, since it would mean leaving Harry, Ron and Hermione all on their own. But then he imagined the huge stack of paperwork that would most likely be waiting for him in the summer if he didn't catch up on it now and those feelings went away. He and Canada were hardly the only ones leaving Hogwarts, of course. After the double attack there weren't many kids willing to stay in the castle any more than necessary.

It was probably a good thing for Harry so many kids were leaving, really. Everyone seemed convinced that he was the Heir of Slytherin, and would give him a wide berth in the hallways as if he smelled really bad. Which he didn't. He smelled rather nice, actually. You would have thought the kid would be used to people pointing at him and muttering, but America supposed that it was a very different thing when it was clearly so negative. The Weasley twins found it amusing, at least. They often went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through…"

Percy, of course, disapproved. "It is _not _a laughing matter," he said coldly.

"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred. "Harry's in a hurry."

"Yeah, he's nipping off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant," said George, chortling.

Ginny seemed even less amused by this, though. "Oh, _don't_," she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or George pretended to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they met.

Usually, America's response to this sort of behaviour would be to declare Harry's heroism, but the twins' antics were clearly cheering up the despondent Harry, so he let it continue. Besides, it was pretty funny. They seemed to be having the opposite effect on Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.

"He's totally just _dying _to go into a Bond-villainesque rant about his plan, dudes," said America. "I mean, seriously, he's clearly going to grow up into one. If he doesn't have a huge, extravagant mansion with super-powerful security by the time he's old enough to grow some evil facial hair, I'll eat my glasses."

"Well, if things work out, we'll hear his rant soon," said Hermione in a satisfied tone. "The Potion's nearly ready. We'll be getting the truth out of him any day now." She looked at America and Canada sadly. "It's too bad you two won't be here for it. Are you sure you can't stay?"

"Sorry, Hermione," said Canada. "But we have… prior engagements, eh."

America nodded. "Yeah! There's always this super awesome Christmas party, there's no way I'm missing it!"

The Golden Trio still looked rather sad, so Canada added, "Look on the bright side, eh. You won't need to find two extra Slytherins for us to impersonate."

The end of term came far too quickly for America's liking. Before he knew it the school grounds were covered in snow, classes were over, and his trunk had been crammed full of all his things. He and Canada hugged the Golden Trio goodbye, and went off to the Hogwarts Express. They spent the trip talking about what they'd be doing during the holidays.

"Bro, do you remember who's hosting the party this year?" America asked his brother.

Canada stroked Kuma's head thoughtfully and said, "I think it's Ludwig's turn this time."

America groaned, leaning back further into his seat. "Great… _that's _sure to be fun," he said sarcastically.

"It will be, eh," said Canada. "Ludwig isn't dead serious _all _the time, you know. And Gilbert will probably be helping, too, and he's fun."

"I guess…" America glanced out the window. "D'you think we should've told Iggy about the attack?"

Canada continued petting Kumawhatshisname, his expression turning worried. "I'm not sure… I mean, it wasn't that long ago. We can just tell him once we see him. And… then he'll probably yell at us for not telling him earlier." He paused. "Maybe waiting to tell him face-to-face wasn't such a good idea, eh."

"Yeah…" America checked his watch. "We're getting pretty close, we should probably get changed. And by the way, when Iggy starts yelling at us, I'm blaming you."

Canada sighed, saw the inevitability of arguing, and started getting changed.

*time skip*

Once again, England was waiting for the two of them at Platform 9 ¾. America jumped out of the train, carrying his trunk in one hand. It felt good to be back in normal clothes for once. He'd missed his bomber jacket. And not having to always wear a dress.

America went over to England and dropped the trunk on the trolley. "Hey, Iggy! What's up?"

England glared at him. "Oh, you know, just the usual attacks on children." He nodded to Canada. "Good to see you, Matthew."

Canada smiled, his eyes full of surprise. "Thanks! It's good to see you, too, eh."

They made their way to England's car in silence. America kept looking over at Canada, trying to communicate that he would _not _be the one to tell England about the attacks. Canada kept doing the same thing. It wasn't until they were all sitting in the car that England broke this stalemate. "All right, you two have been exchanging meaningful glances every ten seconds. What do you want to tell me, America?"

America pouted. "Why me? Canada was doing it, too!"

England smiled at him nastily in the rear-view mirror. "I enjoy watching you squirm. Now spit it out."

America heaved a giant, dramatic sigh. "Oh, _fiiine_. There was another attack a little while ago."

It was a good thing England hadn't actually started driving yet, because he probably would have run over several pedestrians. "WHAT?! WHY THE BLOODY HELL DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THIS?!"

Canada came in to the rescue. "We thought that with Christmas break coming up, we could just tell you face to face. And now we have. Doesn't make much of a difference when, eh."

England took a deep, calming breath. "I… suppose that's true." He put the keys in the ignition and started up the car. "When we get to my place, you two will have to wait to be aged back up. I need to call Scotland. If you've got any more huge pieces of news to drop on me, please wait until doing so won't cause a traffic accident." He pulled into the street, and America and Canada got the feeling that disobeying him right now would be a very, _very _bad idea, so they spent the ride in awkward silence.

**A/N: I don't really like this chapter... ah, well, I'll just throw it out there. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Now for Q&A! To SoulxMakaLover37: Uno) Not really. Dos) Hold on, let me google it... It's a shoulder muscle, I guess? That's what Wikipedia says, anyway. Tres) No. Quatro) Basically I do all the work online and see a teacher about once a week. It works well if you're not a procrastinator. I'm having a bit of trouble with that part... Cinco) BORON! Seis) All praise the Flying Spaghetti Monster! Siete) Well, according to Pottermore I'm a Ravenclaw, and I'm pretty cool with that, so Ravenclaw! Ocho) Nope. Sorry for the brevity, I'm trying to make these things a bit shorter. To Ahdaze: Umm... that might be going a bit far. Plus it's pretty greasy and gross right now, you probably wouldn't want it. To Berlin: Probably France. No telling what he might do to the others' weak, defenseless bodies... To TheChibitalian: Yeah, there are definitely some similarities. I might actually have someone bring it up if my current plans for this series work out... We'll see. And - what? Cookie? Cookie, where did you go? I thought you liked me! COOOKIIIIEEEE NOOOOOOOO! *starts sobbing* NEXT CHAPTER: Canada once again wakes up on Boxing Day and wonders what he did the night before. See you all next time!**


	26. Chapter 25

**CHAPTER 25: A NEW TRADITION**

Canada woke up, but didn't open his eyes. Even the red light filtering through his closed eyelids was making his head feel as if it would split open at the seams. He reached futilely for a blanket and found none. He seemed to be lying on a couch. Not one of his own couches, either, this one was made of leather. His face felt a bit sticky, too. All in all not a great start of a day.

He tried to remember what had transpired to put him in this sorry state. He'd gone to the party at Germany's place with Cuba, and they'd spent most of the night together. Then they came across America and of course he and Cuba started getting into a fight. Canada tried to stop them, but they completely ignored him, so he gave up and went to find something else to do. Then he'd run into Prussia, who'd forced a beer into his hand, and from that point on it was all black. He really needed to stop letting people drag him into their drinking, especially on Christmas.

Was he still at Germany's? It was certainly possible. He seemed to remember Germany having super sleek leather couches… Maple, this was the second time in a row he'd woken up on Christmas morning lying on someone else's couch with a hangover and no recollection of what had happened the previous night. Was this going to be his new holiday tradition? He hoped not. His reputation as 'the good one' would be completely ruined…

Canada heard the door slam open and a far too loud voice call out, "_Buon Natale, _Germany! I've got gifts for you~!"

Canada groaned and brought his hands to his ears, but he must have been perched far more precariously than he'd thought, because he found himself tumbling off the couch and onto the floor. "Oh, maple."

"Ve, America! Are you okay?!" Small, soft hands grabbed Canada and helped pull him to his feet. Well, actually, 'helped' was a bit of an exaggeration. They pulled a bit and were obviously trying their best, but really if anything they just made it harder for Canada to get up.

Canada glanced at his 'rescuer' and saw that it was Italy, wrapped in a stylish winter coat and carrying a bulging bag. "I'm fine, eh, thanks. And I'm Canada, not America."

Italy stared at him blankly for a few moments, letting out a 've~' sound. Suddenly he gasped and clapped his hands together. "Oh, right, Canada! With the cute polar bear and the hair curl that's like mine! Buon Natale!" With that he gave the northern nation a huge hug. Canada wasn't caught too off guard by this. He'd seen Italy hug other nations (especially Germany) quite possibly thousands of times. He'd just never been on the receiving end of one. It was probably usually less cold and wet than this, since Italy had just come inside and his coat was still covered in snow.

Canada patted his back just a tinge awkwardly. "Merry Christmas to you, too, eh." As Italy released him with a happy 'Ve~!', something he'd said suddenly hit home. "Wait… polar bear…" Canada looked around. "Where's Kumahydrate?!"

"Oh, no, have you lost your bear? That's so sad, he's too cute to get lost!" Italy looked on the verge of tears, his hands moving like he was trying to swat a swarm of flies. _Well, he's certainly… full of energy. And very in touch with his emotions._

Canada checked his watch and nearly had a heart attack. "Oh, maple, I need to get going! I've got a plane to catch, eh!" Canada's eyes tried to scan the room, but that didn't work so well without his glasses. "Oh… um… Italy, could you please help me find my glasses?"

"Sure thing!" And Italy was all smiles again. He went around the room, humming an indistinct melody to himself. After a few moments he cried out, "Found them! Here you go, Canada!"

Canada winced at the volume, but the sense of pressure was greater than his hangover at this moment. "Thanks." He put them on and properly scanned the room for his coat. It was on the coat hook. He grabbed it, putting it on. "I need to go, so would you please look around the house for Kumaharken? I have no idea where he would have gone to…"

"Okay~!"

Canada reached for the door handle, remembered something, and turned back. "Do you have any sunglasses?"

Italy shook his head, a smile still on his face. "Nope! But I know where Germany keeps them! Hold on un momento!" He ran off into the depths of the house. Canada checked his watch again. _Oh no, oh no, maple maple maple maple I'm going to be late and miss my flight and then America will be worried and he'll call people trying to figure out where I am and then England and France will probably get all worried and why couldn't I have enough common sense not to get into a drinking contest with Prussia? Wait, did I get into a drinking contest with him? Well, at least I vaguely recall that much… _He was still having a panicky internal monologue when Italy returned with about a dozen pairs of sunglasses. "Here you go! Have a nice flight~!"

"Thanks." Canada picked a pair at random and slipped them on. "Well, goodbye, then, eh." And so he finally went through the door. By some miracle he managed to catch his plane and all of the horrifying worst-case scenarios he'd been hypothesizing did not come to pass. Once he got home he found Kumadyne already there, happily chowing down on his Christmas present. After a quick call to Germany's house to reassure Italy that the cute polar bear was safe and sound and as adorable as ever, Canada sat down next to the fire and began settling down for a nice nap.

Fate seemed to hate him with a burning passion, though, because he'd barely closed his eyes when there was a tapping at the window. He groaned and opened his eyes. There was an owl there. Several owls, in fact. _I should probably let them in… it's cold out there, they'll end up frozen… _He opened the window and ducked out of the way as they flew into the living room and perched on various pieces of furniture. Canada looked at the packages they were carrying. _Presents from the Hogwarts bunch. This one's from Hagrid, that's from Hermione, oh, Harry and Ron gave me presents this year. Good. _He glanced over at the fire. It was strange how distant the world of magic seemed… But it wasn't, really, was it? Canada had his own magical community. He'd had it for pretty much his entire life. The promise of a new life in the new world was just as enticing to witches and wizards as it was to Muggles, if not more so. And then when there had been… er… that little incident in Salem, after which plenty of magical people fled to Canada to avoid the new witch-hunting craze. But the thing was, he'd never really been _connected _to it. Very few nations were. England, Norway and Romania were the only ones Canada knew of. Ireland counted, too, he supposed, but she still shared a magical government with her brothers, so she didn't interact with it too much anymore.

Canada removed the packages from the owls and placed them on the coffee table. It really felt as if he were living a double life… during the school year, he was Matthew Jones, a normal young wizard attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and protecting the school from peril with his friends. He was still a bit teed off about having to use America's last name, but as England had pointed out, twins having different last names would just draw suspicion. But he was digressing, back to the point. During the holidays, he was the personification of Canada, doing his best to help his people and represent them to the other nations of the world. To any normal person, both those lives would be equally strange, he realized. If he told his school friends about the latter life, they'd probably just laugh at him. Except Hermione. She'd take him seriously and run off to the library to research his claims.

Canada smiled, barely aware that he was sinking onto the couch. _Those guys can be so silly sometimes… what was it America called them? The Golden Trio? Yeah, that was it… I wonder what that makes the two of us… _And then he fell asleep.

**A/N: This is probably really awful. I'm tired and just want to get this out there. Sorry I haven't updated. Christmas happened. And I changed it slightly, since I realized that there was no reason to have it take place on Boxing Day. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Okay, onto Q&A. Fair warning, I'm tired and these answers will probably be really weird. To TheChibitalian: German sparkle party? 0.o Okaay... YAY COOKIE! *starts stroking cookie* Hello, precious... yes, you're back... we'll be together forever, precious... precious... pREcIouS... To RussianMochi: Yeah, I guess I just like messing around with my own country because I know him best... kinda. And for the random question, nope, I've never seen MLP. And yes, I think all of the plots of Harry Potter could be solved by having Russia out-evil everything. But that would be too easy, so it's not going to happen. To Ahdaze: I recognize a creepy chuckle when I hear it! *runs away and hides behind shield* I like you, but not enough to give you my DNA. To SoulxMakaLover: MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! But yeah, Mattie, I love you. This is just my way of showing it. Aww, thanks for the hugs! Have one for yourself! \(^-^)/ To Berlin: Did I miss something? Why is everyone talking about German Sparkle Parties? And I guess I'd go with England, if only so I could take pictures to blackmail him with later. Regarding the cupcake... um, no thanks! I'm pretty full! Yup! Completely full, couldn't eat another bite! SilentMoonLace13: OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM! Good job converting your sister! Maybe I should try that with mine... though I'm not sure anime is really her scene. I showed my Mom the first few episodes and she didn't seem super into it. And OMIGOSH THAT IS A COINCIDENCE! Thank you all for being so nice! Merry belated Christmas to you all! NEXT CHAPTER: America and Canada go back to Hogwarts and find out what they've missed. See you all next time!**


	27. Chapter 26

**CHAPTER 26: WELCOME TO HOGWARTS**

America never would have guessed he would be so happy to go back to school after Christmas break. Sure, it wasn't like he was bouncing off the walls with joy, but usually he would have needed to be dragged kicking and screaming back to school after a holiday. Not this time, though. It was really great to see the other nations again, but all the paperwork was even worse than homework, and life at Hogwarts was blissfully normal compared to the shenanigans the nations of the world got up to. Oh, God, he was starting to sound like England.

America was looking forward to seeing the Golden Trio again most of all. So when he went into the Entrance Hall to find Harry and Ron already there, he was thrilled. "DUUUUUUUDES WAZZZUUUUP?!" The two of them barely had time to acknowledge America's presence before he'd run over and pulled the two into a bear hug. "I TOTALLY MISSED YOU GUYS! THANKS FOR THE PRESENTS, BTDUBS!"

"Erm… th-that's great, Alfred," Harry gasped.

"I think… my lungs are… caving…" wheezed Ron.

"Oh. Whoopsie." America released them. "Sorry, dudes. Sometimes I forget that I have the strength befitting the hero."

Harry and Ron gasped for breath, clutching their sides. Harry nodded at the space beside America. "Nice… to see you… Matthew."

"Huh?!" America whirled around and saw Canada seemingly materialize out of thin air. "How long have you been there, Mattie?!"

"I've been here this whole time…" murmured Canada, but he didn't seem really offended. He was used to it by this point. "Anyway, it's good to see you two again, eh." He looked around the hall. "Where's Hermione?"

Harry' and Ron's expressions changed immediately. "Er… in the hospital wing," said Ron.

"We were just on our way to visit her," said Harry. "You two should come along. I'm sure she'll be happy to see you."

America's eyes widened. "What?! Dudes, what happened?! Is she okay?!"

"If she's in the hospital wing, I doubt she's completely okay, eh," said Canada drily.

"We'll explain on the way," said Harry, and the four of them began making their way to the hospital wing. "You two remember our plan with the Polyjuice Potion, right?"

America nodded. "Yeah, the Mission Impossible mask potion. Did you guys pull it off? Did Malfoy get expelled? Because if so, we need to have a party! Like, right now!"

"Hold your horses, Alfred," said Ron. "Malfoy said he didn't do it. And we were disguised as Crabbe and Goyle, so if he was going to tell anyone, it would have been us. And his father wasn't the one who opened the Chamber last time, so we're back to square one."

America pouted. "Aw, man! I was looking forward to being able to beat his face in without getting in trouble."

"You still haven't explained why Hermione's in the hospital wing, eh," said Canada.

"I was getting to it," said Ron. "Hermione was going to disguise herself as Millicent Bulstrode, since she already had a strand of her hair from Duelling Club. But it turns out that strand of hair wasn't from Bulstrode. It was from her cat."

Canada gasped. "But the Polyjuice Potion is only meant for human use! If you tried to use it with animal hair… Oh, God, what happened to her?"

"It's fine, it's nothing _too _bad," said Harry quickly to appease Canada, who looked like he was about to have a panic attack. "She's able to walk and talk and everything, she just… well, you'll see for yourself. We're here." Indeed, they had arrived at the hospital wing.

America threw the door open. "HEERRRMMMIIIOOOONNNEEEE! HARRY AND RON TOLD US ABOUT THE FAILURE OF MISSION IMPOSSIBLE MASK! ARE YOU OKAY?!"

Hermione had pulled the covers over her face and let out a noise that sounded oddly like a _meow. _"Would you _please_ be quiet?" she growled. "My hearing's much more sensitive than usual." She let the covers fall and reveal her face. Her fur-covered, feline face.

America's jaw must have landed somewhere in the dungeons. "Oh. My. God." He recovered quickly. "Dude, my friend Heracles would be so jealous of you right now, you don't even _know._"

He ran over to her and flicked one of her ears. It twitched, and Hermione gave him a sour look. "Don't do that! And why would he be jealous of me? I've been stuck like this since Christmas, and Madam Pomfrey says it could very well take weeks for me to return to normal."

America sat in one of the nearby chairs. "Heracles really, really, _really _likes cats. I have literally never seen him without at least one cat nearby. He's actually said that when he dies, he wants to be reborn as a cat."

"It could have been worse," murmured Canada. "I was imagining… you really don't want to know what I was imagining, eh. I'm just glad you're all right."

"If you can call _this _all right." Hermione smiled at them both. "It is good to see you two again, though. I just wish it were under better circumstances."

"Don't worry about it, I've met people in _waaaay _worse situations," reassured America. "It's too bad you guys weren't able to solve the whole Chamber of Secrets thing. It sounds like we're back to square one, huh."

"Well, at least we got Malfoy to blab about where his family keeps all the things they don't want the Ministry to find," said Ron. "I wrote Dad about it. Hopefully that will knock Malfoy down a peg."

"Yeah, hopefully…" America rested his chin in his hands. "So what's the plan now, dudes?"

The Golden Trio stared at him. "Er… plan?" said Ron.

"Yeah!" America looked around at the three of them. "You know, for catching the Heir of Slytherin or finding the Chamber of Secrets or whatever it is you're planning to do?"

"Er… well… we don't really have one," said Harry.

America stared at him. "WHAT?! You fail once, and you're just giving up?! C'mon, that's not like you guys! We're the heroes! We're supposed to keep on trying until we succeed! Or until we all get killed, but even then I'll make sure we all die heroically!"

"I don't think that's a very good incentive, eh," said Canada.

"No, it isn't, but I get his point," meowed Hermione. "What would you have us do, Alfred? We have no idea who the Heir of Slytherin is, or where the Chamber of Secrets is, or what the monster within it is."

"Well… yeah, I guess you have a point there," admitted America. His stomach rumbled. "Dudes, I'm hungry. Do you think dinner's ready yet?"

Harry checked his watch. "It should be. I'm pretty hungry, too. See you later, Hermione." The four boys got up and went to the Great Hall, talking about food. America was still disappointed by the lack of hamburgers, but the food at Hogwarts was surprisingly good considering it was British, and therefore irrevocably tainted.

He was just chowing down on some roast beef when the doors of the Great Hall suddenly banged open. "ZE AWESOME GILBERT BEILSCHMIDT HAS ARRIVED! FEEL FREE TO BOW DOWN BEFORE ME! Seriously, go on. Do it."

**A/N: Yes, it was inevitable. Prussia has entered the building. BOW DOWN BEFORE ZE AWESOMENESS! Also, have a hug, everyone. \(^-^)/ Now for Q&A! To Berlin: Probably Italy's. I can just imagine how happy and fun it would be. PASTA EVERYWHERE~! To SoulxMakaLover37: I think I'm running out of ideas for Kuma names. I might just start opening a dictionary at random and using whatever word I land on. Nope, never jumped in an elevator. Hmm... tough question. Maybe I'd ask Germany for advice on drawing manga-style, since he seemed good at it. All I can draw are really simple chibis. And I'd probably choose... the kitchen and its legion of house-elves to do my bidding. Aww, thanks! To TheChibitalian: 1) I'd probably choose magic and England's cooking. I'm not actually that into Italian food, to be honest, but I really like roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and biscuits and such, so it would probably work out well for me. 2) Don't worry, he'll chill in ice cream... MY ice cream... forever and ever and ever... hehehehehehe... I googled German Sparkle Party, but judging from the thumbnail for the video that was the first thing to pop up I was too afraid to actually click on anything. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada gets to deal with the Bad Touch Trio. See you all next time!**


	28. Chapter 27

**CHAPTER 27: THE BTT ARE BFFS**

Harry, along with the entire rest of the Great Hall, turned to stare at the loud newcomer. He was sitting close to the door, so he was able to get a good look at him. His appearance was strange enough to grab his attention even if he hadn't just barged in during dinner. Despite looking like he was in his early twenties at most, his messy hair was stark white, and his eyes gleamed blood red. Albino, then? Harry had heard the term before, and it seemed to suit this pale figure. He was also dressed in Muggle clothing – a dark blue coat, stylishly ripped jeans, and leather boots. His accent seemed German, though Harry wasn't an expert. All of this, combined with the oddness of his statement, meant that it would have been strange if everyone _hadn't _been staring at him.

Another voice rang out, this one with a French accent. "Zat is _not _ze entrance we agreed on, Gilbert!" Another man came into view, this one looking at least somewhat more normal, with dark ashy blond hair that fell down to his shoulders and deep blue eyes. His clothes were what made him stand out, though. They were also of Muggle make, and they were simply _fabulous_. He looked as if he belonged in a magazine or a shampoo commercial.

Yet another man came into view. "I think it was a great entrance!" he said, and his accent seemed to be Spanish. He was probably the most inconspicuous of the three, with short, messy brown hair, tanned skin, and bright green eyes. He was dressed in Muggle clothes as well, though all that was really notable about them was that his coat was rather thick and warm.

Harry heard a groan beside him, and turned to see Alfred with his face buried in his hands. "What are _they_ doing here?" he muttered.

"You know them?" asked Ron.

Alfred lifted his head. "Yeah, I guess. I've got no idea what they're doing here, though."

The three newcomers had started arguing. "Ze entrance you chose vasn't awesome enough, so I improved it! Chill out, Francis!"

"Improved it? You just made it all about you, you-"

"I liked both of your ideas, so I'm okay with how it turned out."

"Stop approving of everyzing we do, Antonio, I am trying to 'ave an argument 'ere!"

"Um…" Matthew seemed to have materialized near the three strangers. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but-"

"MATTHIEU! TU ES TELLEMONT MIGNON!" The one referred to as Francis grabbed Matthew and started cuddling him, petting his hair and cooing in French.

Alfred sighed. "We'd better intervene now, before Francis runs away with him." He stood up and walked over to the developing soap opera near the door. Harry and Ron followed, if only to see what happened.

The Spaniard (Antonio, was it?) was busy talking to Francis. "I perfectly understand the urge to hug cute little boys, but I think Matthew's starting to suffocate." Francis seemed to completely ignore this, absorbed in acting like a little girl who'd just received a baby doll for Christmas.

Gilbert seemed to be the only one to notice them. "Oh, hallo, less awesome zan me people. Zink you can get Francis to stop forcing himself on Birdie?"

"No problem! And I'm just as awesome as you, dude!" Alfred grabbed a handful of Francis' hair and yanked. "Yo, Francypants, stop spazzing out over him!"

"Ow! Sacrebleu!" Francis released Matthew and started rubbing his scalp, glaring at Alfred. "Was zat really necessary, Alfred?"

"Yup! So, did you just come here to fawn on Mattie, or…?"

Gilbert provided the answer. "Vell, zat's vhy _he _came here. I'm here to give zis back." He pulled a bag out of seemingly nowhere and handed it to Matthew. "I found it at my place, and it had a maple leaf on it, so I assumed it was yours."

Matthew's eyes widened. "I was wondering where that was, eh. I was in such a hurry to catch the plane, I must have forgotten it after the Christmas party. Thank you, Gilbert!"

Gilbert smiled and ruffled his hair. "No problem, Birdie." He tilted his head to the side. "Has your hair always been zis soft?"

"Um… I don't know how to answer that, eh."

Alfred spoke up. "So, Gilbert's here to return something, and Francypants is here to drool over Mattie… What are you doing here, Antonio?"

Antonio shrugged. "They were going, and it's been a while since I visited Hogwarts, so I decided to just tag along." He looked around the Great Hall. "It's even nicer than I remember! All those candles… it's amazing that everyone isn't covered in melted wax. I suppose they use magic to stop it."

"I'm afraid we can't tell you all our secrets, Señor Fernandez Carriedo." They all turned to see that Professor Dumbledore had joined them. He was looking at the three newcomers with a knowing, friendly twinkle in his eyes. "It is good to finally see you in person, Herr Beilschmidt. I was expecting you earlier."

Gilbert puffed out his chest. "Vhen you're as awesome as me, it takes a vhile to plan an appropriate entrance."

Francis rolled his eyes. "Oui, several hours, in fact. And zen you do a completely different entrance for no reason, apparently."

Gilbert waved a hand dismissively. "Ze unawesome should not speak of zat vhich zey do not understand."

Dumbledore's smile never faded. He seemed amused by their bickering. "Since you have come all this way, would you like to stay for dinner?"

The effect this polite invitation had was almost comical. Francis let out a sort of wail and grabbed onto Matthew for support. Gilbert blanched and his smug expression turned to one of horror. Even Antonio, who had never stopped smiling up until this point, started looking worried. "You should stay, the food here is pretty good, eh," said Matthew, patting Francis reassuringly on the arm.

"Of course you'd zink zat!" wailed Francis. "Your sense of taste 'as been completely ruined by Artur's cooking!"

"I-I-I zink I'll pass," stammered Gilbert. "I ate British food vunce, und it nearly killed me."

"If you are referring to Arthur Kirkland's cooking, I can understand why you might be hesitant," said Dumbledore. "But I assure you he had nothing to do with the preparation of our food."

After a bit more convincing from Alfred, Matthew and Dumbledore, the visitors agreed to stay for dinner. They ended up sitting at the staff table. Dumbledore summoned three chairs for them. Antonio was seated next to Snape. The Spaniard seemed to be trying to have a conversation with him, though from the lack of movement from Snape's mouth it was mostly one-sided. Francis was seated next to Professor McGonagall. Much like Antonio and Snape, Francis was talking to McGonagall, and she wasn't responding. Francis' expression was much more playful and teasing than Antonio's, though, so Harry guessed that McGonagall had good reason to be ignoring him. And Gilbert was seated next to…

"Oh, man, this ought to be good," said Alfred as the German sat next to Lockhart. "The two largest egos on the face of the earth are about to interact, dudes."

Harry strained his ears to hear the conversation, but everyone else was so busy talking about these strange guests that it was impossible. All he could do was watch their expressions. At the start they both wore extremely smug, self-satisfied smiles. As the dinner progressed, Gilbert's smile faded into a scowl, while Lockhart's stayed in place, if becoming more noticeably fake and cracking around the edges as their conversation went on. By the time dessert was over, Gilbert was looking downright murderous and Lockhart's smile had become the sort worn by people about to snap and start gunning down innocent civilians.

When the leftovers vanished from the plates, everyone stood up to leave, including the guests. Harry, Ron and Alfred all lingered in order to see the three of them leave. They all shook hands with Dumbledore and said something Harry couldn't hear over the din, though it was probably along the lines of 'thanks for dinner, it didn't kill me nearly as much as I was expecting'. Then Gilbert turned around and punched a surprised Lockhart in the face. He fell to the ground, obviously knocked out cold. Gilbert sprinted out of the Great Hall laughing and shouting, "I AM ZE MOST AWESOME PERSON IN ZE WOOOOOORLD!" That made pretty much everyone shut up and freeze. Francis stared after Gilbert with a look of shock, while Antonio just wore the same smile he'd been wearing for pretty much the entire night.

Antonio spoke up first. "Gracias again, Dumbledore! Adios!" Then he sprinted out of the Great Hall after his friend, leaving Francis on his own.

The Frenchman recovered himself, regaining a smile and blowing a kiss to the Great Hall at large. "Au revoir, 'Ogwarts! Ne oubliez pas de me écrire, Matthieu!" And then he ran out of the Great Hall so fast he was barely more than a blur.

Harry and Ron looked at each other. "That was the single strangest dinner I've ever had," said Harry.

"Clearly you didn't grow up in a magic family," said Ron. "But that was pretty weird, mate."

**A/N: Sorry to everyone who thought the BTT would be attending Hogwarts, they're just there for a visit. Also sorry this is a bit late. HAVE A HUG! \(^-^)/ Translations: Tu es tellemont mignon! = You are so cute! Ne oubliez pas de me écrire! = Don't forget to write me! Forgive my GoogleTranslate French. It's rather sad when France has to be the sane one in a group, isn't it? Originally this chapter was going to be from Canada's POV, but then I realized it's been forever since I did a Harry chapter, so I decided to use an outsider's perspective. Anyway, onto Q&A! To Guest: I've thought a bit about this, and I think it would work out fine. I mean, appearance-wise Nations are mostly indistinguishable from humans, so in my headcanon it would be okay. To RussianMochi: Don't worry, they're fine! I haven't actually read any of the book manga, I've just seen the anime and read most of the stuff on Hetarchive. There's a strip where France and England fight over Canada in there?! I know there's one for America, but I didn't realize Canada got one, too! But, yeah, considering how France wanted to be America's big brother, and how he constantly refers to himself as a big brother, Canada would probably call him frère aîné (big brother) rather than papa. In this fic, at least. To Berlin: I definitely wouldn't. I might watch and take pictures, though. To MissAmerica13: Sorry, it was just a visit. And I don't think any romances are going on. I don't really like writing them, and even if I did the whole 'Canada looks twelve at the moment' thing would make it a bit awkward. As for France, I feel like while he won't go all the way 'forcing his love', he'll still push the boundaries a lot. NEXT CHAPTER: Our heroes find a certain diary. See you all next time!**


	29. Chapter 28

**CHAPTER 28: A TOME OF PURE EVIL**

Canada was both impressed and unsurprised when classes started and Hermione refused to fall behind. She had them bring her all the homework she was missing, along with books and any notes they wrote in class so she actually knew what she was doing. Canada suspected that even without the books and notes she would have been fine. It was probably all stuff she'd read before.

"Dude, you got turned into a cat-girl, I think you can take a break from this stuff," said America as he tipped a huge pile of books onto Hermione's bedside table one evening.

"Don't be silly, Alfred, I've got to keep up," said Hermione briskly. She seemed much peppier now that the fur had gone from her face, and her eyes were slowly but surely darkening from gold to their usual brown. "I don't suppose you've got any new leads?" she added in a whisper, so that Madam Pomfrey couldn't hear her.

"Nothing," said Harry gloomily.

"I was so _sure _it was Malfoy," said Ron, for about the hundredth time.

"It was a pretty safe guess, eh," said Canada. "Being Malfoy and all… he was very suspicious."

"Yeah, are you _sure _he wasn't just lying about not doing it, dudes?" asked America, also for about the hundredth time.

"Yes, Alfred, we're sure," said Harry. "If he was going to tell anyone, it would have been Crabbe and Goyle." He frowned suddenly and pointed at Hermione's pillow. "What's that?" Canada followed his gaze and saw something gold and shiny sticking out from under it.

"Just a Get Well card," said Hermione hastily, trying to poke it out of sight, but America was too quick for her.

He pulled it out, flicked it open and read aloud. "_To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin Third Class… _blah blah blah blah blah. He spent more time writing out all his fancy titles than actually wishing you'd get better." He looked up at Hermione. "Dude, you sleep with this under your _pillow_?" Luckily for Hermione, she was spared answering by Madam Pomfrey swooping down upon them with her evening dose of medicine.

"Is Lockhart the smarmiest bloke you've ever met, or what?" said Ron as they walked through the halls.

"Eh… let me think…" Canada mentally went through all the Nations he could remember and their smarminess. "Nope, Lockhart's at the top of the list. That's really quite the achievement, eh."

"Yeah, seriously," said America. "We've known a _lot_ of weird people."

Before that conversation could go any further, an angry outburst from the floor above reached their ears. "That's Filch," Harry muttered. The four of them automatically began climbing up the stairs toward the source of the noise, ears pricked.

"You don't think someone else's been attacked?" said Ron tensely. Nobody replied, partly because they were busy trying to hear what Filch was saying, and partly because they almost didn't want to know the answer to that question.

Finally they managed to make out Filch's words, which was a bit hard since he was sounding quite hysterical. "…_ Even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore…_" His footsteps faded and they heard a distant door slam.

They all poked their heads around the corner Scooby-Doo style. Filch had obviously been manning his usual look-out post: once again, they found themselves in the spot where Mrs. Norris was attacked. Why was it they always seemed to find their way back here? With a glance it was obvious what had caused Filch's latest screeching fit. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Now Filch had stopped his Banshee impression, they could Myrtle's own, much better one echoing off the bathroom walls.

"_Now_ what's up with her?" said Ron.

"Let's go and see," said Harry.

America took a step away from them, eyes darting around the corridor as if looking for an escape route. "U-u-u-u-umm, m-maybe we should, uh…"

"Hold on, Alfred, I think I've got the blindfold in here…" Canada looked through his bag and found the piece of cloth he'd been using to blindfold his brother right at the bottom. He pulled it out and tied it around America's eyes. "There we go, eh. Is that all right?"

America gave the empty space he probably thought was Canada a thumbs up and grin. "Yup! The hero is ready to investigate!" And so, holding their robes above their ankles and Canada leading America by the arm, they stepped through the great wash of water to the door bearing its Out Of Order sign, ignored it as always, and entered.

If Canada had thought Myrtle had hit her peak in melodramatic crying, he was proven wrong by the wails now emanating from the ghost. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet, which was a sentence Canada had never thought before and hoped he never would again. The bathroom was even darker than usual, since the candles were now all soaking wet and unable to be set aflame.

"Are you… What's up, Myrtle?" said Canada. He was going to ask if she was all right, but then he remembered that she'd probably take it as an insensitive jab at her deadness.

"Who's that?" glugged Myrtle miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"

Harry waded across to her cubicle and said, "Why would we throw something at you?"

"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging from the water like a B-movie sea monster. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me…"

"But, dude, aren't you, like, intangible or whatever?" America asked a sink that he probably thought was Myrtle. "It would just go through you, right? And it's not like you could feel it."

As usual, America had said the wrong thing and pissed someone off. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, "Let's all throw books at Myrtle, because _she _can't feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha ha ha! What a lovely game, I _don't _think!"

"Who threw it at you, anyway?" asked Harry.

"_I _don't know… I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head," said Myrtle, glaring at them. "It's over there, it got washed out."

Canada, Harry and Ron looked under the sink, where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. "Dudes, what's she talking about? I can't see anything!" complained America.

Harry stepped forward to pick it up, but Ron suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back. "What?' said Harry.

"Are you mad?" said Ron. "I could be dangerous?"

"Dangerous?! What are you dudes talking about? What is it? What got flushed down the toilet?! C'mon, tell me!"

"_Dangerous_?" said Harry, laughing. "Come off it, how could it be dangerous?"

"You'd be surprised," said Ron, who was looking apprehensively at the book. "Some of the books the Ministry's confiscated – Dad's told me – there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who reads _Sonnets of a Sorcerer _spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could _never stop reading_! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And-"

"All right, I've got the point," said Harry.

"Wait, it's a book?! Why didn't you just say! Yeah, books can totally be dangerous, Harry. What if it's, like, the Necronomicon, and reading it drives you insane and you summon one of the Great Old Ones and it eats the world?"

Canada gave the nondescript, soggy little book a critical look. "I don't think this is the Necronomicon, eh. It's too little."

"Oh. Well, come on, you can't blame me for thinking it! I think we both know that if the Necronomicon showed up anywhere, it would be Hogwarts!"

"Well, we won't find out what it is unless we look at it," said Harry, and he ducked round Ron and picked the book off the floor. Now that Canada could get a good look at it, it was obviously just an old Muggle diary. Both he and Ron approached to read over Harry's shoulder, while America stumbled around bumping into walls.

"Hang on," said Ron. "I know that name… T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago."

"How did you know that, eh?" asked Canada. He might have expected Hermione to offer that kind of information, but definitely not _Ron._

"Because Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times in detention," said Ron resentfully. "That was the one I burped slugs all over. If you'd wiped slime off a name for an hour, you'd remember it, too."

"What's happening?! Why do these damn walls keep getting in my way?! You haven't summoned anything with a name unpronounceable by the human mouth, have you, dudes?"

"No, Alfred, we're Lovecraft free, stop worrying about it, eh," Canada called absently to America. He was focusing on the diary, whose set pages were being peeled apart by Harry. They were completely blank. Not a single smudge of ink to be seen.

"He never wrote in it," said Harry, obviously disappointed.

"I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?" said Ron curiously.

"BECAUSE IT'S WRITTEN R'LYEHIAN AND IT DROVE ITS PREVIOUS OWNER INTO GIBBERING MADNESS, DUDES!"

"Alfred, it's not the Necronomicon, give it up already!"

Harry ignored them, turning the book over. "He must've been Muggle-born," he said thoughtfully. "To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road…"

"Well, it's not much use to you," said Ron. He dropped his voice. "Fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle's nose."

"I HEARD THAT! PASS IT, HARRY, I CAN DO IT!"

"Alfred, you're blindfolded right now, you can't, eh."

"Sure I can! I'm the hero!"

"You're also talking to a toilet right now." Canada was so busy arguing with America that he barely noticed Harry slip the book into his pocket.

**A/N: Meh, Horcrux, Necronomicon, what's the difference? HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ I forgot to mention it last time, but WOW, I'VE GOT OVER TWO HUNDRED REVIEWS NOW YAY! Thanks everyone! And now for Q&A. To Superwholockingers: Thanks! I had to run that through GoogleTranslate to understand it and I think it translated a bit too literally, but thanks! To The Legend of Zelda Fangirl: That's fine! I'm just happy you're reviewing now! The BTT never actually attended Hogwarts. They probably visited, but they never attended. France and Spain went to Beauxbatons, because apparently Spanish wizards and witches don't have their own school and just go to the French one. As for Prussia, I don't know. The only European schools we know of are Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, so he probably either went to Durmstrang or some other, lesser school closer to his home. And they all got their educations centuries ago, so sorry if I've dashed any fantasies about prank wars between the Marauders and the BTT. And yes, I've seen a playthrough of HetaOni. GAH THE FEELS I CRIED TEARS SO MANY TEARS WAAAAH! Okay, I'm good now. To Berlin: I just watched it yesterday, and it's fun if you don't take it at all seriously. And to give you more to think about, the Welsh are also famous for their love of sheep. Poor Iggy... To RussianMochi: Oh, okay! I think I already read that one, but I just forgot about it. And, yeah, I remember reading about that battle in school. I had a bit of fun imagining how it would have gone down. France: "Don't worry, Canada, I'll protect you from England! There he is! Attack!" *charges out of defensible position towards England, firing wildly even before he's in range* England: *waits until France is in range, shoots once and hits him in the heart* France: "...ow, okay, he's yours." I don't know about the rest of this book, or book 3, but book 4 is definitely going to have quite a few Nations making appearances! To SoulxMakaLover37: You're welcome :). That... is a very complicated question. Um... 1) Maybe Germany, because I'm as weak and frail as Italy and as lazy as Romano. 2) England, because I like his cooking. 3) I don't want anyone to hate me, I love them all! 4) Canada, because HE'S MY NATION AND I WANT HIM TO LOVE ME EVEN THOUGH I KEEP DOING HORRIBLE THINGS TO HIM IN THIS FIC! NEXT CHAPTER: America has to deal with Valentine's Day. See you all next time!**


	30. Chapter 29

**CHAPTER 29: BRUTTO SAN VALENTINO**

America loved every holiday, and Valentine's Day was no exception. He took advantage of every excuse to throw a parade and have people send him chocolate. He hadn't been planning on doing anything at Hogwarts, though. Professor McGonagall would probably skin him alive if he threw a surprise parade on the grounds. Glinda the Sparkly Wizard, on the other hand, seemed to have other ideas.

He was walking into the Great Hall with Canada, Ron and a de-catified Hermione when he was nearly blinded by the amount of lurid pink in the room. The huge flowers decorating the walls were pink. The heart-shaped confetti falling from the ceiling was pink. Pretty much all of the students' faces were pink from embarrassment at being involved in this whole affair. And a smirking Glinda's robes were pink. There was far too much pink, all in all. "What the f-"

"I guess this is what he meant by 'morale booster', eh," groaned Canada, cutting America off. It was probably for the best that he did, all things considered. "I'm going to go grab some food before it's all completely buried in confetti. See you all later." Kumawhatever-his-name-was let out an indignant growl as Canada picked him up, interrupting his efforts at catching what he probably thought was a strange pink snow, and went over to the Hufflepuff table.

A few minutes later America received a gift that very nearly made up for all the pink horror. Harry walked into the Great Hall from Quidditch practise and took a double take. America wished he had a camera, or at least Collin Creevey, at hand in order to immortalize his dumbfounded expression. The Boy Who Lived stumbled over to them, clearly feeling just as confused as they were. "What's going on?" he asked, sitting down and brushing confetti off his bacon.

"That's the question we've all been asking ourselves, dude," said America. "Though you totally put it in a way more polite way than I was going to. I don't know exactly what's happening, but I think I know who we can blame for it." He jabbed a thumb towards Glinda. Just in time, it seemed, because the Sparkly Wizard was currently waving to everyone for silence. Unlike Dumbledore, McGonagall or the Bat-Dude, he was having a bit of trouble getting everyone to pay attention. Speaking of those three, America found himself once again wishing for a camera. Dumbledore merely looked amused, but McGonagall and the Bat-Dude both looked a few inches from killing a man. One flamboyant, pink man.

Once enough people had noticed that they were supposed to be quiet, Glinda shouted, "Happy Valentine's Day! And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all – and it doesn't end here!" _Oh, dear God. _ Glinda clapped his hands and through the doors to the Entrance Hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. If they'd been cast in Snow White, they all would have been good contenders for Grumpy. Or maybe those expressions were just because they'd been forced to wear golden wings and carry harps.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Glinda. _Yeah, those aren't the words I'd use to describe Grumpy and the Eleven Other Grumpys. _"They will be roving around the school today delivering your Valentines!" _God help those unlucky enough to get sent one of those. _"And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!" Flitwick looked as if he'd rather be anywhere than his current position. Snape now looked millimetres away from cursing Glinda. And America would probably cheer if he did.

"Please, Hermione, tell me you weren't one of the forty-six," said Ron as they left the Great Hall for their first lesson. Hermione suddenly became very interested in searching her bag for her timetable and didn't answer.

America passed Canada and noticed the northern nation was smiling a bit too much after what they'd just been subjected to. "What's up with the grin, bro?"

Canada's smile widened and gained a rather unpleasant edge to it. "Oh, nothing. I was just thinking this is a lot like something _you _might do, eh."

"WHAT?!" America spluttered, trying to come up with a coherent response. "How could- what the- why would you think that?! There's totally no way I'd do this! If I was in charge, there would be flashing neon lights, and at least one parade, and cute girls instead of grumpy dwarfs!" This seemed to only make Canada happier, and for once America did _not _consider that a good thing. "You suck, dude, did you know that?" Canada shrugged, still grinning from ear to ear, and went off to class.

The day turned out to be even worse than America had feared. It seemed as if every class they went to was interrupted by a Valentine, and most of those Valentines seemed to be for him. He was a bit surprised by that, actually. He wasn't the modest type, he knew he was hot. But he'd always felt that his looks had only really blossomed in his teen years, and he looked twelve at the moment, so he hadn't expected to have girls fawning over him quite yet. There were other, more attractive (for the moment, at least) guys at Hogwarts, so why did everyone seem so fixated on him?

"Alfred, you're saying your thoughts out loud again," whispered Ron.

America jerked back to reality, which was currently History of Magic class and a particularly boring lecture by Professor Binns. "Huh? How much did I say?" he asked, trying not to let his panic show. Some of the things he'd been thinking could be rather compromising.

"Just 'why does everyone seem so fixated on me'," said Harry, giving up any effort at paying attention to the teacher and joining their hushed conversation. "Which I'm rather curious about, too."

Hermione let out a disapproving 'tut' noise at their talking during class, but then she said, "Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" The three boys stared at her blankly. She sighed, putting down her quill and giving up on writing notes. The lecture was really, _really _boring, even by Binns' standards. "For one thing, Alfred, and I say this objectively, you're really cute. And you're very… er… outgoing and confident, so pretty much everyone at school has noticed you at some point. And you're American, which gives you a sort of exotic air. Is it really all that surprising you've picked up a few admirers?"

Ron reached into America's bag and pulled out a handful of cards. "You call _this _a few admirers?" he asked incredulously. "It seems like the entire female population of Hogwarts has been dying for a chance to shower him with affection."

America leaned back in his chair, gesturing to himself. "Well, come on, dude, it's not like you can blame them. I am quite the catch." Harry and Hermione both snorted, Harry from amusement, Hermione from disbelief. She went back to her notes, which was probably a good thing, because Harry and Ron's grades depended on those notes.

At lunch, Canada came over to the Gryffindor table with an armful of Valentines. "These are for you, Alfred," he said, dropping them in America's lap. "The dwarfs keep giving them to me by mistake, eh." He didn't even bother disguising the annoyance in his voice.

America glanced around the table. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville were all staring at him in shock, while Dean and Seamus looked angry. America opened his mouth to tell them that he hadn't been expecting this many, and really it was more annoying than anything else, and he wished those girls would send these cards to someone else, but then he realized just how much he'd want to punch anyone who said something like that, and decided to say nothing.

America's feelings of guilt continued, until finally, late in the afternoon, as the Gryffindors were walking upstairs for Charms, a particularly grim-looking dwarf caught up with Harry. "Oy, you! 'Arry Potter!" it shouted, elbowing people out of the way to get to his target.

Harry blushed, his eyes darting towards the line of first-years nearby, his gaze lingering on Ginny Weasley in particular. He tried to escape, but the dwarf was faster, switching tactics to kicking people in the shins. "I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in person," said the dwarf, twanging his harp and somehow managing to remind America of Sweden. _Oh, wow, I haven't gotten a musical one yet. I should probably rescue Harry, but this is just going to be too funny to ruin. Man, of all the days to not bring a camera… I should do what Japan does and just bring one with me everywhere I go._

Harry tried to weasel his way out of it, shooting desperate looks towards America, Ron and Hermione, but the other two seemed to be unwilling to pass up such hilarity as well. He and the dwarf ended up having a tug-of-war with Harry's bag. Unable to take the strain of being pulled at by a twelve-year-old and a dwarf, it broke at the seams, making a rather impressive mess. Harry caused a bit of a traffic jam trying to pick it all up.

Then Malfoy and Percy Weasley showed up and suddenly the prospect of Harry receiving a musical Valentine became a lot less funny. America moved to help Harry pick up his things, but Harry's nerve, which had remained strong when faced with trolls and Dark Lords, gave way to this situation and he tried to make a break for it. The dwarf grabbed his knees and he fell to the floor in a rather unheroic way.

"Right," said the dwarf, sitting on Harry's ankles. "Here is your singing Valentine:

_"His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,  
>His hair is as dark as a blackboard.<br>I wish he was mine, he's really divine,  
>The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.<em>"

America tried not to laugh. He really did. But in the end… let's just say that Yoda had to describe it, it would have fallen under the 'do not' category. Percy Weasley did his best to get everyone to move along. "Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now. _And _you, Malfoy."

America managed to reign in his laughter and glance over towards Malfoy. He was doing something best described as leering, showing something to Crabbe and Goyle. Any urge to continue laughing vanished when America recognized the diary, or Necronomicon, or whatever that book really was. Harry wasn't pleased, either, saying in a quiet voice that was no less threatening for it, "Give that back."

"Wonder what Potter's written in this?" said Malfoy, who clearly could not recognize a tome of eldritch lore when he saw one. Everyone in the hall fell silent, probably realizing that Malfoy was about to release one of the Great Old Ones from their prison to bring doom to the world. Ginny in particular looked rather terrified, and probably with good reason.

"Hand it over, Malfoy," said Percy in a tone reminiscent of Germany.

"When I've had a look," said Malfoy, waving the Book of Evil tauntingly at Harry.

Percy began to say something about being a prefect, but Harry seemed to have snapped. "_Expelliarmus!_" he cried, and the book went flying out of Malfoy's hands. America reached to catch it, but Ron did the same thing, and they ended up just bumping into each other. Hermione picked it up from the ground where it fell.

"Harry!" said Percy loudly. "No magic in the corridors. I'll have to report this, you know!" Harry's expression said quite clearly that he couldn't care less.

Malfoy looked furious to have his 'prize' stolen from him. As Ginny passed him to enter her classroom, he yelled spitefully at her, "I don't think Potter liked your Valentine much!" Ginny ran into class with her face in her hands, and Alfred had to physically restrain Ron from attacking Malfoy. Normally he would have been fine with letting Ron curse the brat, but with the state his wand was in, he probably would have turned himself into a sea lion or something.

**A/N: I'M BACK! HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ I haven't finished DAI yet, but I'm a bit less consumed by it, so I was able to focus again! Yay! Now it's time to answer questions... prepare for a truly gargantuan Author's Notes! To Actual God: Yeah, we might not be as loud and show-offy as Americans, but we're still strong! And the Necronomicon is a fictional book containing information on the Great Old Ones from H. P. Lovecraft's Cthulu Mythos. Some people have actually made real-life versions of it, but unless it drives you insane or kills you when you read it, it's just not quite the same as the real thing. Or not real thing. I don't know, just Google it. To SoulxMakaLover: No, I've never hidden something in a piano. The pianos in my household have never been those glossy black curvy ones you see on TV, and not suitable for storage. I've used piano benches, though, does that count? To TheChibitalian: No, I've never done that, but it sounds fun. It also sounds like it would probably annoy the delivery person, and I always try to avoid causing fuss for people in the food service industry, so I probably wouldn't actually do it. In some ways I'm too Canadian for my own good. To Berlin: HORSIES! Sorry. It's been a while since I went horseback riding. I'd get back into it, but I'm so busy with other things I don't think I'd have time for it. As for the question, I'd definitely go with never writing again. How are you supposed to be able to write well if you can't see what good writing looks like? Wow, look at that, that wasn't so bad. Thank you all for being so nice during my hiatus! NEXT CHAPTER: A horrible truth about Hagrid is learned, and Canada considers new subjects. See you all next time!**


	31. Chapter 30

**CHAPTER 30: ABBOOOOOOOOOTT!**

Canada had trouble concentrating on choosing new classes to take next year, to say the least. A short while before the Easter holidays, Harry had discovered that T. M. Riddle's diary was indeed unusual. Apparently it had shown him one of Riddle's memories – to be exact, the memory of him catching Hagrid with a monster and accusing him of opening the Chamber of Secrets. Harry, Ron and Hermione were now all convinced that their beloved friend Hagrid had unleashed a monster on the school.

They didn't think he'd done it on purpose, of course. Hagrid had always had an affinity with the kind of creatures that had no business being anywhere near a school, but it was never malicious. He just thought they were cute and misunderstood. So, much to Canada's relief, they all decided not to bring it up to Hagrid. It had been months since the last attack, so the panic had started to die down as people began thinking it was all over. One good thing about this was that people started being nice to Harry again. Peeves got bored of his musical taunting, Ernie Macmillan had stopped saying Harry was the Heir of Slytherin, and people stopped giving him a wide berth in the corridors. To make things even better, the Mandrakes were close to reaching full maturity, so Mrs. Norris, Collin Creevey, Nearly Headless Nick and Justin Finch-Fletchley would soon be up and walking and talking and living again.

Canada, however, knew one little detail that no one else did, and it was putting a damper on his good mood. If Scotland was right, and he usually was about magic, Tom Riddle was a young He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, so his testimony regarding Hagrid's guilt was murky at best. He'd tried bringing up this tidbit to America as soon as they were out of earshot of the others after Harry first told them what he'd seen in the diary.

America had just looked at him in that 'what the hell are you talking about, dude' kind of way. "Dude, where did you get that idea?"

Canada had felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. "From Alistair, eh. Don't you remember?" America just stared at him blankly. Canada groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, you have _got _to be kidding me. How could you forget something that important?!"

America shrugged. "If I didn't remember it, bro, it couldn't have been that important, right? How do you know _you're _not the one who's misremembering? Is that even a word? I dunno, if it isn't, it should be!"

So Canada had gone back to his room to find Scotland's letter and mash America's face into it until his memory kicked in. But, of course, since the universe seemed to have it in for him, he couldn't find the letter _anywhere_. He looked through his trunk three times, went through every pocket of every jacket and pair of pants he'd brought, and looked under his bed several times. Eventually he had to give up on both finding the letter and convincing his friends that Tom Riddle was Voldemort. If he couldn't convince his own brother, what hope did he have of convincing Harry, Ron and Hermione?

So Canada wasn't in the best state of mind when he was given a list of subjects he could take in his third year. When he, America and the Golden Trio were having a 'figure out which courses to take' meeting in the library, he found himself staring blankly at his list without really internalizing any of it. _Is this how Ron feels all the time?_

Hermione was taking the whole matter _very _seriously, of course. "It could affect our whole future," she said, poring over her own list.

"Maybe _your _future, dudes…" America muttered in a voice so quiet only Canada, who was sitting right next to him, could hear. He was right, of course. It really didn't matter which courses the two of them chose, or what grades they got. As soon as they graduated, it would be back home and to work as a Nation for them. Realizing that made Canada relax a bit.

"I just want to give up Potions," said Harry.

"We can't," said Ron gloomily. "We keep all our old subjects, or I'd've ditched Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"But that's very important!" said Hermione, shocked.

"Not the way Lockhart teaches it," said Ron. "I haven't learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose."

"And that Harry isn't a very good actor," joked America. Harry gave him a playful punch on the arm. "But, seriously, dudes, isn't the job cursed? If we're lucky, Glinda's going to be gone by the end of the year. But if the next guy they choose to teach hero class ruins it, too, I _am _going to punch him in the face."

"You can't solve everything by punching people, Alfred," said Canada.

"Then clearly you aren't punching people hard enough."

The meeting ended with Canada no closer to making a decision than before, but luckily fate decided to smile upon him for once. A few days later, both he and America received what felt like a deluge of letters filled with advice from England, Scotland, Wales, the Ireland twins, and France. They sat together on a bench in the Entrance Hall after breakfast to go over it all.

"Dylan seems to be the only one who recommended Arithmancy," said Canada, flipping through all his letters.

"Yeah, everyone else says it's really hard," said America, doing the same thing. "I wasn't expecting him to be the one to suggest it. He never struck me as, you know, the intellectual type." He glanced at his list of courses again. "Bro, everyone seems to _really _want us to take Care of Magical Creatures."

"The Kirklands do seem to really like them," noted Canada. "Francis said you'd probably be good at it, considering how you seem able to become friends with literally anything, eh. It seems like it might be fun. The lessons would be very hands-on." He looked down at his own list. "Muggle Studies would be pretty much useless for us."

"At least it would be an easy A," said America. "Or whatever it is wizards use for letter grades. Plus, can you imagine how hilarious it would be?"

"I don't think we should be choosing classes based on how much we'll laugh at the material, eh." Canada looked at his letters again. "Ancient Runes might be useful if we want to read anything really old."

"Dude, why would we want to do that? If we really needed to read something, we could just read the translation." Before Canada could point out that things were often lost in translation, America pointed at the last elective on the list and said, "What about Divination, bro? Patrick says it's a load of crap, but Arthur seems really into it, and everyone else is kind of 'meh' about it. What did Francis say?"

Canada checked the letter. "Eh… he said it might be worth a shot, and at the very least we could seem at least somewhat credible if we ever wanted to go into the fake fortune-telling racket."

America let out an exasperated puff of air that wasn't quite a sigh and shoved all his papers into his bag. "I'll just see what the Golden Trio are taking. See you later, bro!" America took off towards the Gryffindor common room.

Canada sighed, putting his own papers away. He didn't feel like he'd made all that much progress. It seemed that if he didn't take Care of Magical Creatures, all of Great Britain and Ireland might denounce any association with him, so he supposed that was one class decided on. He got up and started walking back to his own common room, since he didn't really have anything else to do. He was just thinking over whether to just take Muggle Studies in order to get an easy pass when someone crashed into him.

"Sorry," both he and whoever had crashed into him gasped as they fell to the ground. Sitting up, Canada saw that the crasher was Hannah Abbott.

She, remarkably, seemed to recognise him, too. "Sorry about that, Matthew, I didn't see you there," she said, picking up her bag.

Canada grabbed his own bag and stood up. "No, it's okay, I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings, eh."

He helped Hannah up to her feet, but before they could say anything else Ernie Macmillan appeared from around the corner. "Oh, Hannah, there you are!" he exclaimed, rushing over to them. "Where have you been? I wanted to talk about our courses."

Hannah let out a somewhat nervous laugh. "Oh, you know… around." Her eyes darted from side to side, obviously looking for an escape route. Eventually they landed on Canada. "You know, Ernie, I think I've pretty much figured out which ones I'll take, why don't you talk to Matthew about it?" With that she shoved Canada towards Ernie and fled in the same manner one might push someone into a pit full of bears. As she ran she glanced over her shoulder and mouthed, 'Sorry!'

Canada didn't have a good feeling as Ernie seemed to finally notice him. "Oh, Matthew, I didn't see you there! Have you decided on which courses you'll take?"

Canada found himself looking around for an escape route, too. "Eh… not yet."

Ernie grinned. "Excellent! Let's go to the library, I saw some books on Arithmancy that I wanted to check out…"

As Ernie grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him towards the library, giving a lengthy monologue about the pros and cons of Arithmancy, Canada had to fight the urge to shake his fist skywards and scream, 'DAMN YOU, HANNAH!'

**A/N: hugs \(^-^)/ I had some trouble coming up with a reason for Canada not to just tell Harry 'Yeah, that kid is gonna grow up to be Voldemort, don't trust him'. Hopefully this one will suffice. Which courses do you think America and Canada should take? They're both definitely taking Care of Magical Creatures, but everything else is up in the air. And here's some more interaction between Canada and his fellow Hufflepuffs! I feel like he doesn't get enough of it. And I don't know where Kumajiro is in this chapter, I guess he's getting hugs from the house elves. Yay for a relatively short Author's Notes for once! NEXT CHAPTER: The Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff is cancelled. See you all next time!**


	32. Chapter 31

**CHAPTER 31: REPITITION DOES NOT EQUAL BELIEF**

The next Quidditch match would be between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, which meant that America felt the slightest bit of conflict about supporting his own team. Canada seemed to be conflicted over whether to support his own house team or his friend's team. In the final few days before the match, however, he seemed to make up his mind to support Hufflepuff, if him saying to Harry, "I hope you aren't a sore loser, eh," with a nasty grin on his face was any indicator. Despite his reputation as a paragon of niceness, Canada could be really competitive sometimes.

America was pretty sure Canada's prediction was going to be wrong. Harry's team had been training pretty much every day, and the sessions he'd dropped in on looked really good. So he was in very good spirits when he went into his dormitory the evening before the match to find a slinky and yo-yo (long story). Then he saw what laid within and his spirits fled as if they'd been exorcised.

By some stroke of luck, good or bad it was impossible to ascertain, America ran into Harry at the top of the stairs. "Dude, somebody took everything out of your trunk and threw it around the room! It totally looks like a hotel room the morning after a rock band stays in it, but less throw-up and broken beer bottles." Harry's eyes widened and he rushed through the door. America felt he was kind of expected to follow him, and did so.

Harry seemed shocked by this sudden invasion of privacy. He and America were just putting the sheets back on his bed when the rest of their room-mates entered. Dean swore loudly. "What happened, Harry?"

"No idea," said Harry. Ron was examining Harry's scattered robes. America noticed that all the pockets were hanging out.

"Someone's been looking for something," said Ron. "Is there anything missing?"

Harry, starting to look truly panicked, hastily began picking his things up and putting them into his trunk. America and Ron exchanged a look. America was relieved to see the worry curling around his abdomen like a snake reflected in Ron's eyes. When Harry finally finished putting his things away, he came closer and said to the two of them in an undertone, "Riddle's diary's gone."

"_What?"_

America shrugged. "Meh, it seemed pretty evil anyway. Totally not a loss." Harry gave him a swift glare before jerking his head towards the dormitory door, signalling that they should get out of hearing range of their room-mates. They hurried back down to the Gryffindor common room, which was only half full, and joined Hermione, who was sitting alone, reading a book called _Ancient Runes Made Easy_. America got the feeling that Hermione and the author's idea of 'easy' was every other person on Earth's idea of 'ridiculously hard my brain is melting just looking at this'.

Harry quickly explained what had happened to her. Looking aghast, she replied, "But – only a Gryffindor could have stolen – nobody else knows our password…"

"Exactly," said Harry.

America started tapping his foot impatiently. "Then let's go find out who did it, dudes! C'mon, let's go! Why are we all just sitting around?!"

"Er, it's not like we can just ask, mate," said Ron. "I mean, do you really think asking, 'Did you steal the magical diary from Harry?' is going to get us an affirmative?"

America put on a pronounced pout, crossing his arms over his chest. "Party pooper. What do you suggest we do? Just wait around and hope that whoever did it feels bad and gives it back with a note of apology?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you the one saying that the book was pure evil and would destroy the world or something? I thought you'd be glad to see it gone."

"Well, yeah, but, you know… it's the principle of the thing." After a few moments of being stared at, America let out a _harrumph _and threw up his arms. "Fine, fine, we'll do it your way! Just sit around and do nothing. Great plan, dudes."

*time skip*

By the time he woke up to bright sunshine (Sunshine in Scotland? Who knew?) the next morning, America was so excited about the match he had pretty much completely forgotten about the missing Necronomicon.

"Perfect Quidditch conditions!" said the hilariously named Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading his team's plates with scrambled eggs until they were hidden behind a veritable mountain of the stuff. "Harry, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast."

America thumped him playfully on the shoulder with enough force to send him face-first into his plate. "Yeah, come on, dude, you got a game to win!" Despite both his and Wood's encouragement, Harry still looked thoroughly distressed when they left the Great Hall to get his Quidditch things. Then, just as the Boy Who Lived set foot on the marble staircase, he froze.

Suddenly he let out a loud shout, causing Ron and Hermione to jump away from him in alarm. America stayed where he was. The shout hadn't been _that _loud, at least by his standards. "The voice!" said Harry, looking over his shoulder. "I just heard it again – didn't you?"

"Wait, seriously?" That definitely hadn't been what America was expecting. "Oh, fu-"

Hermione clapped a hand to her forehead. "Harry – I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the library!" And she sprinted away, up the stairs.

"_What _does she understand?" said Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come from.

"Loads more than I do," said Ron, shaking his head.

"Wish she'd tell us some of it," grumbled America. "Maybe then she won't have to be a living, breathing encyclopaedia."

"But why's she going to the library?"

America snorted. "Dude, you've known Hermione for almost two years now, and you haven't figured out that her reaction to things is always 'run to the library'?" Ron nodded in agreement.

Harry was obviously still shaken by the voice, but people were now emerging from the Great Hall behind him, talking loudly, exiting through the front doors on their way to the Quidditch pitch. Canada made his way through the crowd and tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Harry, you should be getting a move on, eh," he said, eyes twinkling playfully. "I understand if you don't want to get beaten, of course, but that's no reason not to try."

Harry nodded and raced off in the direction of the Gryffindor common room. America, Canada and Ron all walked down to the Quidditch pitch together, arguing about who would win all the while. They only stopped when Canada went off to join his fellow Hufflepuffs in the stands. America and Ron settled themselves in amongst the other Gryffindors, the anticipation in the air so thick it could almost be mistaken for toxic gas.

Everyone cheered and booed appropriately as the teams walked onto the pitch. Harry looked a bit more anxious than he usually did before a match, but from this distance it could have easily been America's imagination. The balls were released, Wood did a quick warm-up flight around the goal-posts, and everyone got so excited America was seriously worried they might form a mob and march on the teams if they didn't start soon.

The teams mounted their brooms, and the whole stadium held its breath… and then Professor McGonagall came hurrying onto the pitch, holding what looked like a purple microphone. _And wizards say they don't need Muggle technology… _"This match has been cancelled," she called. Everyone shouted and booed, America included. _What the hell, dude? We were just about to win the Quidditch cup! Don't pretend you don't care, we all know you want to see the other houses crushed under our heel!_ Oliver Wood clearly had a similar reaction, running over to McGonagall and saying something to her. She ignored him and continued, "All students are to make their way back to the house common rooms, where their Heads of House will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!" She lowered the megaphone and – America had to squint to see it – beckoned Harry over. After a quick, unheard exchange, they started heading to the castle. What?! Harry was heading back without them?!

"Aw, HELL naw!" America stood up and ran after them, Ron right behind him. Canada joined them as well, Kumajiro lumbering behind and displaying the ursine speed and agility many people underestimated. They caught up with the two of them quickly. America opened his mouth, quickly pulling together the best argument he could for why Professor McGonagall should drag the three of them along.

That argument died on his lips when she simply looked at them sadly and said, "Yes, perhaps you three had better come, too." America was so shocked and confused that he couldn't come up with anything to say as they made their way back to the castle and up the marble stairs. He had been expecting to be lead to McGonagall's office or something, so he was even more puzzled than he already was when he recognized the path to the hospital wing.

"This will be a bit of a shock," she said in a gentle voice America never would have thought her capable of. "There has been another attack… another _double _attack."

America and Canada both simultaneously let out swears that under normal circumstances would have gotten them docked points or at least detention. Since apparently these were not normal circumstances, McGonagall let it slide and simply pushed open the hospital wing door.

It was one of those moments were you can only absorb so much in a situation in so much time. At first America could only see Madam Pomfrey leaning over a girl who looked to be in her fifth-year who he didn't recognize. Then his eyes slid to the bed next to her and he could have sworn his heart stopped beating for a moment.

"_Hermione!_" Ron groaned.

It was her, lying utterly still, eyes open and glassy. America's breath caught in his throat and died. How did he breathe again? He couldn't remember. Looking into those empty eyes sent him back… back to battlefields, back to packed hospital wards full of victims of some epidemic, back to the bedsides of friends who had been able to be lifelong friends with him, without him being able to return the favour… _She's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead, she's going to get better, she's just Petrified, she's going to be okay again…_

He could barely comprehend Professor McGonagall's words. "They were found near the library. I don't suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them…" America tore his eyes away from Hermione's face to see a small, circular mirror in the Professor's hands. All four of the boys shook their heads, their gazes all dragged back to Hermione as if she were exerting a strong gravitational pull. _She's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead…_

"Matthew, I am afraid you'll have to go back to your common room on your own," said Professor McGonagall heavily. "I will escort these three back to Gryffindor Tower. I need to address the students of my house in any case."

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is a bit late, guys. I had a bit of trouble writing the first part. Not the sad part, that part came very easily, which is rather worrying. I THINK WE ALL NEED HUGS NOW! \(T-T)/ Thank you all for your suggestions about courses! I don't think I'll make a final decision until I start writing the next book. Anyways, ignoring all the sadness, time for Q&A! To SoulxMakaLover37: You can? I've never tried it. I don't think I could use my current one, since my family seems to be using it as a shelf as well as a musical instrument. And for the second question... probably everything would be different. I don't know, I find it hard to imagine. I'd probably just spend all my time huddled up in a corner trying not to cause anything discomfort. To TheChibitalian: Nothing springs to mind. And I'm afraid if I told you a scary story it would probably be longer than the actual chapter. If I tell a story, I need to tell it properly. Sorry! I still love you in a friendly platonic way! To Natekleh: I think I came across the name somewhere. Let me Google it... Huh. I'm afraid to read too much about it in case I spoil myself, but it looks interesting. I might watch a playthrough of it some day. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada and friends confront Hagrid. See you all next time!**


	33. Chapter 32

**CHAPTER 32: CORNELIUS FUDGE SOUNDS LIKE A GOOD DESSERT NAME**

"All students will return to their house common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

The Hufflepuffs packed in the common room were silent as Professor Sprout read out the official-looking piece of parchment she was holding. She rolled it up and added, sounding distressed, "I realize that these new rules might seem draconian, but we only want to protect you. This is perhaps the most danger Hogwarts has ever faced. If these attacks are not stopped, the school might very well be closed. If anyone knows anything that might help, please tell one of the faculty."

Canada was barely paying attention as she made her way out of the common room. He was sitting in a chair in the corner, hugging Kumajiggle tightly. It was hard to believe that just this morning he had been solely focused on something as unimportant as a sporting match. The rest of the Hufflepuffs began talking amongst themselves, speculating about who the Heir of Slytherin could be and what monster they could be unleashing upon the Muggle-borns of the school. It was clear that none of them wanted to see the school closed.

Canada couldn't join in on their discussions, and this time it wasn't just because any contribution he made would go unnoticed. He was still haunted by the image of Hermione lying in the hospital wing, looking so very much like a corpse. It brought up a lot of unpleasant memories that he usually tried to ignore. And judging from America's expression when he saw Hermione, he was feeling the same way. Sometimes it was frustrating being in a different House, unable to interact with his brother or friends as much as he'd like to.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice someone sit down next to him and say, "Are you okay, Matthew?" For once it was Canada jumping and looking around for the person he hadn't seen. It was a very worried-looking Hannah.

He tried his best to smile and said, "Yeah, I'm fine, eh." Even as the words came out he knew that they wouldn't fool even a three-year-old.

Unsurprisingly, Hannah wasn't convinced. "Are you sure? I know you were friends. This must be really hard for you." Canada avoided her gaze, looking down at the wooden floor, and tried to exude an aura of 'please leave'. He heard Hannah sigh, and felt her place a hand on his arm. "Well… if you want to talk about it, I'd be willing to listen." Then the hand was gone, and he sensed more than saw her get up and go back to the crowd of speculating Hufflepuffs.

Canada appreciated the offer, but he highly doubted he would take it. What was he supposed to say? 'Yeah, seeing her like that reminded me of all the other dead people I've seen. Especially on battlefields. Did I mention that I've fought in a bunch of wars? Well, I have. In fact, I'm the personification of Canada. Surprise!' No, he couldn't talk to any human about this. The only person he felt he could talk to was America, and he was all the way up in Gryffindor Tower.

The noise level seemed to increase, and Canada couldn't take it anymore. The Hufflepuff Basement usually felt so comforting, with all its plant-life and burnished copper and round doors. It felt like living in a hobbit-hole. But tonight all it did was make him feel alone, separate from all his house-mates. He felt suffocated. He needed to get out. He realized that it was against the rules, but he knew that nobody would notice him leave anyway.

He got up, still carrying Kumajackal, and walked out. Nobody noticed, just as he thought. Once he was through the barrel-hole, he felt a bit lost. What should he do now? Just stand here? No, he felt that movement might help him work through all these feelings at the moment. So he set off in no particular direction, trying to be as invisible as possible.

The halls of the school were the most crowded Canada had ever seen. Teachers, prefects and ghosts were marching through the corridors like they were soldiers on patrol. Luckily, they hadn't received any proper military training, so they weren't exactly the best at it. Combined with Canada's natural invisibility, he made his way to the Entrance Hall without incident. It was only there that he actually encountered incident.

"Sorry!" he gasped as he bumped into something. He clapped a hand over his mouth as he realized his mistake.

"C- Matthew? What are you doing here, bro?" Something shifted in the air before him, and America, Harry and Ron became visible. _Ah. They must be using the Invisibility Cloak._

"I was just taking a walk to clear my head, eh," whispered Canada. "What are _you_ three doing here?"

"We're going to talk to Hagrid," whispered Harry. "He must know _something_." He gestured to the cloak. "Come on, we've got room. I can't believe you haven't been caught already, all the teachers and prefects around…" Canada slipped under the Invisibility Cloak with the rest of them, relieved to have a guarantee of invisibility. His own seemed a bit temperamental, with a tendency to fail at inconvenient times.

It was his first time underneath the Invisibility Cloak. There was only room for four of them, and last year Hermione had taken up that fourth slot. With her out of commission, it seemed Canada had been upgraded. It wasn't the most comfortable experience. He had to constantly check to make sure he wouldn't trip over the others' feet, and Ron was one of the best friends he could have ever asked for, but his breath left much to be desired smell-wise. Still, they managed to make their way out of the castle and to Hagrid's house without anyone tripping. It was only once they were literally on his doorstep that they took the cloak off. Canada couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Hermione could keep her spot under the cloak indefinitely, as far as he was concerned.

It was only seconds after they knocked that Hagrid flung it open. Canada was a bit surprised to find a crossbow pointed at them. Despite his frightening appearance, Hagrid was probably the last person Canada expect to be pointing a weapon at him. Also, it had been centuries since the crossbow was a popular weapon. Seeing one now made him a bit nostalgic, actually. It was nice to see wizards respecting the classics.

"Oh," said Hagrid, lowering the weapon and staring at them. "What're you four doin' here?"

"Uh, dude, why do you have a crossbow?" said America, pointing at it as they stepped inside.

"Nothin'… nothin'," Hagrid muttered. "I've bin expectin'… doesn' matter… Sit down… I'll make tea…"

After seeing the man nearly extinguish the fire with spilled water from the kettle, Canada got up and helped him. He seemed grateful for the help. "Are you okay, Hagrid?" said Harry. "Did you hear about Hermione?"

"Oh, I heard, all righ'," said Hagrid, a slight break in his voice. Canada knew that there was more to Hagrid's strange behaviour than sadness over Hermione, however. He kept glancing nervously at the windows like a Resident Evil player, and would have given them all mugs of boiling water if Canada hadn't noticed and dropped in the tea bags. Something was definitely wrong. He was just putting a slab of fruitcake on a plate when there was a loud knock at the door. _Ah. He was expecting someone. Not someone friendly, if the crossbow was anything to judge by…_

Hagrid dropped the fruitcake. Harry and Ron seemed to realize how bad the situation was and threw the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves and America. Canada rushed over to join them and they all backed into the corner. Hagrid looked around, making sure they were hidden, and flung open his door once more.

"Good evening, Hagrid," said Dumbledore. For a moment Canada was very confused. It was just Dumbledore? Why would Hagrid be so nervous about Dumbledore coming? He practically worshipped the ground the headmaster walked on. Then Canada saw the person who entered behind him.

He pre-emptively clapped a hand over America's mouth to muffle his laughter. The man following Dumbledore was dressed very strangely, even by wizard standards. A pin-striped suit, scarlet tie, long black cloak, purple shoes… oh, and a _lime green bowler hat_ carried under one arm. Apart from that, he was a short portly man with rumpled grey hair and an anxious expression.

"That's Dad's boss!" Ron breathed, and Canada had to struggle not to gag at the smell. "Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic!" Harry elbowed him hard to make him shut up. America tried to say something, and Canada did the same thing Harry had.

Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs and looked from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge. "Bad business, Hagrid," said Fudge, in rather clipped tones. "Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on Mugle-borns. Things've gone far enough. Ministry's got to act."

The conversation that followed was… distressing, to say the least. At first it wasn't too bad – Fudge seemed almost apologetic, and Dumbledore was disapproving. It seemed that Hagrid was going to be sent to Azkaban, the wizard prison. Then a blond man who could only be Lucius Malfoy entered and the whole thing went downhill. In addition to Hagrid being incarcerated, it seemed that Dumbledore was now suspended. Canada had to physically restrain America from running out and probably punching the Minister of Magic and a school governor in the face. That might lead to trouble.

Finally, just before he was led away, Hagrid took a deep breath and said carefully, "If anyone wanted ter find out some _stuff_, all they'd have ter do would be ter follow the _spiders_. That'd lead 'em right! That's all I'm sayin'." Fudge seemed confused, but Canada understood. _Follow the spiders for answers. Understood. Thank you, Hagrid._

The door banged shut and Ron pulled the Invisibility Cloak off. "We're in trouble now," he said hoarsely. "No Dumbledore. They might as well close the school tonight. There'll be an attack a day with him gone."

America finally managed to wrench himself free of Canada, rubbing his arms where they'd been pinned to his sides. He glared at his brother. "What the hell, bro? I totally could have stopped them!"

"That was the Minister of Magic and a school governor," said Canada. "Punching them in the face would just cause even more trouble."

America let out a strangled yell and punched the wall. His fist went straight through as if it were balsa wood. Canada sighed, quickly repairing it with his wand. Sadly, he didn't notice the significant look Harry and Ron exchanged. If he had, he might have been able to come up with an excuse and saved everyone a lot of trouble down the road. But he didn't, and even if he had, it probably wouldn't have helped.

**A/N: Once again, this chapter took a little while. But it's done now, so yay! Hugs for everyone! \(^-^)/ Moving on to Q&A! To TheChibitalian: 10 out of 10. That is the most horrifying thing I have ever heard. To SilentMoonlace13: OMNOMNOMNOMNOM! And I say nothing except MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! To Berlin: Aww, thanks! And Alfred isn't exactly the most bookish person, so he probably doesn't even know basilisks are a real thing. To Serebiiet: Thanks for all the great reviews! I feel like it would be too much to answer all of them, so I'll just go with the one that seemed the most like a question. It's a bit hard to include Canada, what with him being in a different House, but I feel that he's an important character. He's going to play a pretty big part in the climax of this book, and I won't say anything more than that. NEXT CHAPTER: America and friends meet the delight that is Aragog. See you all next time!**


	34. Chapter 33

**CHAPTER 33: SPIDERS AND GIANT FROGS**

The atmosphere at Hogwarts had begun to remind America of the atmosphere in places that were expecting to get invaded. Everyone was on edge, constantly looking over their shoulders and jumping at the slightest noise. Even as summer began to make itself known everyone insisted on being as mopey as possible. And with Hagrid and Dumbledore gone indefinitely, four students and a cat Petrified, and a monster on the loose, America couldn't really blame them.

All the new restrictions placed on students meant that following Hagrid's parting advice was pretty much impossible. And even if the teachers weren't herding them like cattle from class to class, there didn't seem to be a single spider to be found in the castle. Seriously, what happened to them all? Did the fly population get eaten by Slytherin's monster? Was Slytherin's monster a giant frog? Wait, _was Slytherin's monster a giant frog?!_

That particular thought occurred to him during a Potions class two weeks after the night he had started calling 'The Night I Learned the Ministry of Magic Can Accomplish Nothing'. He quickly turned to Harry and Ron. "Dudes, I think Slytherin's monster is a giant frog!" he whispered. Or stage-whispered, at least.

Both Harry and Ron looked at him as if he'd said something crazy. After a few moments of silence Harry said, "How did you come to that conclusion, Alfred?" He sounded rather like someone talking to an elderly family member they were about to put in a nursing home.

America rolled his eyes. "C'mon, dudes, isn't it obvious? All the spiders are gone, which means all the flies they eat must be gone, and frogs eat flies, so Slytherin's monster must have eaten them, so it's totally a frog! And it must be a giant one, because normal frogs aren't monsters."

There were another few moments of silence. Before Harry or Ron could tell him how amazing his thought process was, Draco Malfoy's (hehehe, stupid name) voice rang through the room and drilled its way into America's brain like a jackhammer. "I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of Dumbledore. I told you he thinks Dumbledore's the worst Headmaster the school's ever had. Maybe we'll get a decent Headmaster now. Someone who won't _want _the Chamber of Secrets closed. McGonagall won't last long, she's only filling in…"

America started taking deep breaths and struggling with all his might to resist the urge to punch Malfoy in the face. The Bat-Dude swept past the three of them, making no comment about how America had taken Hermione's usual seat. "Sir," said Malfoy loudly. "Sir, why don't _you_ apply for the Headmaster's job?" _Because all the first years would run crying from the Great Hall if he was the first thing they saw._

The Bat-Dude wasn't self-aware enough to say this, however, instead saying, with a thin-lipped smile, "Now, now, Malfoy. Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I daresay he'll be back with us soon enough." _Huh. Wasn't expecting that. Well, at least he has enough brains to know that someone as badass as Dumbledore won't be kept away by a piece of paper and some signatures!_

"Yeah, right," said Malfoy, smirking in a way that meant Harry had to start physically restraining America to stop him punching the Slytherin. "I expect you'd have Father's vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job. _I'll _tell Father you're the best teacher here, sir…"

The Bat-Dude smirked and swept off around the dungeon. Seamus Finnigan pretended to vomit into his cauldron, and America gave him a thumbs-up and a grin once he was back in view. "I'm quite surprised the Mudbloods haven't all packed their bags by now," Malfoy went on. "Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity it wasn't Granger…"

America closed his eyes, took even deeper breaths, and clutched the table in an attempt to suppress the now murderous urges blotting out his thoughts. He felt the wood crack and splinter beneath his fingers, and it let out an ominous creaking sound. This all took but a moment, and just one moment later the bell rang. _Be grateful I don't have to deal with you anymore now, you little twerp. _He opened his eyes and saw that Harry and Dean were hanging onto a furious Ron's arms. "Let me at him," he growled. "I don't care, I don't need my wand, I'm going to kill him with my bare hands –"

"Hurry up, I've got to take you all to Herbology," barked the Bat-Dude. Then his black beetle eyes fell on America, Harry and Ron's table and widened. "Jones, what did you do to that table?!"

"Huh?" America looked down and saw that a huge crack had formed in the table. It seemed that he'd nearly ripped it in two by accident. "Oh. Whoopsie." He glanced at his hands and realized that they were full of splinters. _ How did I not notice that?! _ He quickly hid his hands in his pockets before anyone else saw. He'd have to pull the splinters out and hope they healed before they arrived at Herbology. He stood up, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. "Ah, well, you can just fix it with magic, right? You should probably do that. So, yeah." The last word trailed off awkwardly and he got into line with the other Gryffindors.

Snape regarded him suspiciously for a few heartbeats, then repaired the table with a wave of his wand and started leading them to the greenhouses. America was near the back of the line, in front of only Harry and Dean, who were still restraining Ron. They seemed plenty distracted, so America focused on pulling out all his splinters as quickly as possible. He pulled out the last one with his teeth as they got out of the castle and into the school grounds. He examined his hands and was happy to find that they were already healing. It looked like he'd be ready for whatever was waiting for them in Herbology.

"Alfred, what happened to your hand?!" It seemed he'd been looking at his injuries for too long. America looked over his shoulder to see that Ron had calmed down enough for Harry and Dean to release him, and all three were now staring at America's hand. It had been Dean who called out.

America shoved his hands back in his pockets with lightning speed. "Just some splinters, dudes, nothing to worry about!" he said brightly, trying his very best not to sound at all worthy of suspicion. He wasn't sure how successful he was. Dean looked convinced, but both Harry and Ron were clearly not. Ah, well.

Herbology was even more mopey than the rest of their classes, since two of their number were missing. Professor Sprout put them to work pruning the… uh… Voidian Shrinkingflibber? The name was way too complicated. But, on the bright side, they needed about four per bush, so Canada was able to join their group. He attempted to lighten the very heavy mood. "On the bright side, people have stopped suspecting you, eh," he said to Harry. "Ernie was saying he felt bad for ever doubting you. He'll probably try to ambush you to apologize, and he tends to talk a lot, so it'll probably be best to try to ease your way out of the conversation as soon as possible."

This did seem to perk Harry up at least slightly. The faintest of smiles was on his face as he said, "Thanks for the advice. So, who does everyone suspect, now that I'm off the list?"

Canada shrugged. "Well, it varies from person to person, eh. Ernie thinks it's Malfoy… I tried to tell him it wasn't, but he didn't pay much attention to my arguments." Suddenly his eyes widened and he poked America painfully in the kidney.

"Ow, bro, what was that for?!" Ron let out a similar complaint, but both of them fell silent as their attention was directed to the spiders scurrying across the ground. _Finally! I thought the giant frog had driven them all away already… _

"Oh, yeah," said Ron, trying, and failing, to look pleased. "But we can't follow them now…" America tried to let out a frustrated scream, but Canada slapped a hand over his mouth and it became much less impressive.

Ignoring America's muffled protests, Canada said, "Looks like they're heading for the forbidden forest, eh…" Ron's already pale complexion gained a greenish tinge at that. _Oh, yeah, he didn't go into the forest with us last year… It wasn't that bad! I even nearly got to punch Moldyshorts! Why _wouldn't _someone want to go to the forest after something like that?_

The end of the lesson came both too quickly and too slowly. As the Bat-Dude arrived to take the Gryffindors to sucky hero class, Harry said quietly to Canada, "Meet us in the Entrance Hall at about midnight. We'll bring the Cloak." Canada nodded in understanding and went with the other Hufflepuffs to wherever it was they went after Herbology.

America, Harry and Ron lagged behind their classmates as they were led to their next class, so they could discuss their imminent excursion into the forbidden forest. They were still talking by the time they sat down in the back row of Glinda the Sparkly Wizard's class, as they always did. Harry was just reassuring Ron that the forests' denizens weren't all bloodthirsty killers when he started staring at America, his current sentence trailing off into oblivion. "Alfred, wasn't your hand bleeding?"

America had been scratching his nose. He looked at his hand. It was completely healed, just as he'd known it would be. "Uh, yeah, but it's all healed up now, so I'm ready for anything."

"What, in an hour?" said Ron incredulously. "It looked pretty bad. How could it have healed in so little time?"

America was saved from answering by Glinda the Sparkling Wizard making one of his usual big entrances. Even though every other teacher looked at least slightly grimmer than usual, he looked so buoyant he might float up into space and die of asphyxiation at any moment. _Come on, float on up so we can get a better teacher. Go on, you can do it…_

"Come now," Glinda cried, beaming around at them all. "Why all these long faces?" The only answer he received was everyone in the class rolling their eyes at each other. "Don't you people realise," he said in the kind of voice one used when speaking to the stupid. "The danger has passed! The culprit has been taken away."

"Says who?" said Dean Thomas loudly.

"My dear young man, the Minister of Magic wouldn't have taken Hagrid if he hadn't been one hundred per cent sure that he was guilty," said Glinda, continuing his impression of a kindergarten teacher.

"Dude, have you ever _met _a politician? Of course he would!" said America at a volume that made Harry and Ron wince.

"I flatter myself I know a _touch _more about Hagrid's arrest than you do, Mr. Weasley," said Glinda. America started taking deep breaths again. _Dear God, this school is turning me into England! I'm not usually this angry!_

Ron started to say that he didn't think so, somehow, but stopped mid-sentence with a pained look. America suspected Harry had kicked him under the table. "We weren't there, remember?" Harry muttered.

One lesson of Glinda heavily hinting that he'd always suspected Hagrid later and America clearly wasn't the only one wanting to cause the man severe bodily harm. Just about the only thing that kept him from indulging his darker fantasies was the knowledge that he'd be working to exonerate Hagrid that very night. Soon, Slytherin's giant frog-monster would be stopped and the flies and spiders could return to Hogwarts!

**A/N: Okay, apparently I lied last time. I really should have just had them meet Aragog and move the plot forward, but how about instead we give Harry and Ron more evidence that something's up with Alfred! HUGS \(^-^)/ Now for Q&A! To RussianMochi: Yeah, I had an idea for bringing the 2ps in, but that's sort of died now, so it looks like you'll get your wish! And no, I don't have another account. This is my only one on this site. To SoulxMakaLover37: You are absolved of your great sin. And we'll have to see what happens with Aragog next time, because the thing about the 'pantsing' writing style is that you don't plan stuff out and sometimes you write something completely different than what you intended. Strangest dream? Well, I had a pretty weird one after I first saw the Chamber of Secrets movie. I was in the parking lot of my school, and Horcrux!Riddle had an ent-like creature try to eat me. And for the second question, sometimes when I'm thinking I'll start thinking about the complete futility of the human way of life and wonder why we even bother going on when we'll probably all die before we achieve space travel and OH GOD I'M DOING IT RIGHT NOW STOP IT, ME, STOP IT! DON'T DEPRESS OUR READERS! To Berlin: We'll have to see next chapter... sorry about that. And I'm so honored to be nominated for such a prestigious award! So, we now know Nyo!America lives in Vermont. Useful knowledge. To TheChibitalian: 1) I had to look up what pocky was, so no. 3) *sarcasm* Oh my gosh, you've seen it, too? I thought nobody else in the world liked that show! *endsarcasm* 4) Oh, boy... I think I'd have to go with Goblet of Fire, if only because it will provide the chance to naturally bring in more Nations. 5) GAH YOU GUYS ARE SUGGESTING SO MANY THINGS I HAVEN'T EVEN READ HUNGER GAMES YET! In case you guys hadn't noticed yet, when I start watching/reading/playing a new series, I tend to get completely absorbed, so I'm afraid if I watched/read all the stuff you guys suggested I wouldn't be able to finish this! Yeah, that's the excuse I'll go for. It's not because I'm lazy! Totally not! Thanks for the hug! And thanks to all of you wonderful reviewers for making me feel so happy! NEXT CHAPTER: We actually meet Aragog for real. See you all next time!**


	35. Chapter 34

**CHAPTER 34: SOME PUN INVOLVING ACROMANTULAS**

Canada was glad Harry had made their rendezvous time so late. With nowhere else to go, the Hufflepuff common room often stayed very full for very long nowadays. He was fairly sure he would be able to sneak out without notice no matter how full the room was, but he didn't want to take any chances. There was no way he was letting his friends and America go into the dangerous woods at night looking for something Hagrid had suggested they look for. Hagrid was a really, really, really good person, but his taste in pets was on the dangerous side.

So Canada sat in a fairly unpopulated corner and waited for midnight. When the hands of the clock were both pointing upwards, the last of the room's occupants, a group of rowdy sixth-years, finally went to bed. Being as quiet and invisible as possible, Canada beckoned to Kumagelato to follow him and snuck out into the school.

Once again, all the teachers, prefects and ghosts patrolling the halls looking for anything out of the ordinary completely ignored the second-year being followed by a polar bear. He made his way to the Entrance Hall easily and sat down on one of the benches. He checked his watch. _They should be here any second now… I should probably try to be visible now. But what if someone comes in and sees me? Then America and Harry and Ron would have to go on without me, and I just know America would do something reckless and possibly get Harry and Ron killed. Nobody wants that to happen. But if I stay invisible, then they might not notice me and go off on their own anyway. Maple leaf, why does life have to be so difficult?_

He was soon saved from this internal debate when a familiar voice stage-whispered, "Bro, we're here? Where are you?"

Picking Kumajimmy up, Canada made his way over to America's voice. "I'm right here, eh."

There was a strange rippling in the air as America lifted up the Invisibility Cloak. _Great. Another walk full of Ron's halitosis and trying not to trip on anyone's feet. _ Pushing down his qualms on the subject, Canada ducked underneath the Cloak and tried to breathe as little as possible. As they made their way across the darkened grounds, Ron said shakily, "'Course, we might get to the forest and find there's nothing to follow. Those spiders might not've been going there at all. I know it looked like they were moving in that sort of general direction, but…" His voice trailed away hopefully.

America, ever oblivious to the mood, replied, "Dude, that would be such a bummer! I was totally looking forward to punching a huge nightmarish monster in the face!" Ron let out a strange high-pitched whimpering noise and didn't say anything else for the rest of the walk.

If buildings could have expressions, Hagrid's house would have been wearing a very glum one. Even restricted as it was by its house-ness, it still managed to project feelings of abandonment and depression. When Harry pushed the door open, Fang came bounding out and attacked them all with his tongue. His barks were loud enough that even America agreed it could attract attention from the castle, so they fed the dog some of Hagrid's treacle to glue his jaws together. Canada had never heard anything about treacle being poisonous to dogs, but he resolved to keep an eye on him in case he dropped dead due to their negligence.

Leaving the Invisibility Cloak behind (Canada breathed a sigh of relief), the two Nations, two humans, and dog made their way into the forest, their path lit by wandlight. They found some large spiders scuttling their way into the trees almost immediately and started following them. The stream of arachnids was steady, so they were able to follow it with no problem. They all walked in silence for about twenty minutes. Well, Canada, Harry and Ron walked in silence. America kept making what he probably thought were 'heroic' grunts as he punched the air. _Probably practising for if we run into any monsters… _Canada didn't ask him to stop, since for once his strange habits actually had some foundation in reality.

After those first twenty minutes, Harry, who had been in the lead, paused. Canada quickly saw why. The spiders were going off the path and into the wild, foreboding undergrowth. Canada felt a little like Little Red Riding Hood, trying to decide whether or not to follow the Big Bad Wolf's advice. Of course, the situation was much, _much _different and there really weren't many parallels apart from indecision over leaving the well-trodden path.

Harry looked back at them, indecision clear in his expression. "What d'you reckon?"

America rolled his eyes. "Dude, come on, do you want to stop the giant frog-monster or what?"

"We've come this far," said Ron. Canada would have given an affirmative answer as well, but Harry set off after the spiders before he could utter a sound. He was used to this kind of behaviour, though, so he didn't complain.

As they walked through the woods, however, he almost regretted not saying something on the negative side. He was used to woods, he kept telling himself. He hadn't had much else, back when he was very little. He _liked _woods. But when he thought of woods, he thought of normal, Muggle woods where the worst you could face were bears and mountain lions. These definitely weren't normal woods, and the worst they could face was probably the worst things they could face in the entirety of existence. As they lost the trail of spiders again for the twelfth time, Canada resolved to go camping in normal woods during the summer. Maybe he'd invite Cuba or Prussia or the Netherlands or all of the above and they could do normal camping things in the _very normal _woods.

He was abruptly pulled from his camping fantasies by a great, echoing bark from Fang. "GAH EVIL PUNCH IT!" shouted America, looking around wildly for whatever needed his fist in its face. Kumacharming growled and raised his hackles.

"There's something moving over there," Harry breathed. "Listen… sounds like something big." They all listened. Some distance to their right, the something big was snapping branches as it carved a path through the trees.

"Oh no," whimpered Ron. "Oh no, oh no, oh-"

"Shut up," said Harry frantically. "It'll hear you."

"Hear _me_?" said Ron in an unnaturally high voice. "It's already heard Fang!"

"Have no fear, dudes! The hero is here with his Righteous Right-Hook of Justice! FREEEEDOOOOOM!" And so America ran headlong towards whatever monster was coming for them. Canada facepalmed. _Of course. Of friggin course he'd do this._

"Alfred!" Harry called out. "Come back, it's dangerous!" He looked over at Canada. "Does he _always _do this?"

Canada nodded. "Oh, yes."

He was about to suggest they go after him when they heard a loud yell. "WHAT THE – DUDES WHY IS THERE A CAR IN THE FOREST?!"

Harry and Ron looked at each other. "You don't think-" Ron began, but before he could finish it they were all blinded by bright light. Fang let out a yelp and Kumajester let out the bear equivalent of one.

Once they all regained the use of their eyes, Canada couldn't believe his. It was, just as America had said, a car. It was dirty and banged up, but it was still undeniably a car. Ron made its way towards it, mouth hanging open in shock. "Harry, it's our car!" he gasped. "It's been here all this time! Look at it. The forest's turned it wild…"

America came back into view. "Dudes, are you okay?" He seemed to notice Ron. "Uh, would you mind explaining why Ron's hugging a car?"

Something clicked in Canada's brain. "This was the car you two flew to school in, eh?" he said.

Harry nodded. "Yes. I'd wondered what happened to it…" His gaze dropped to the ground and he let out a frustrated noise. "Looks like we've lost the trail… we'll have to find it again…"

Canada was going to help him, but something made him glance at Ron. His expression was enough to freeze him in his tracks. The red-head wasn't moving, or speaking, but his face was twisted into a rictus of terror. His wide eyes were fixed on a point about ten feet above their heads. Canada didn't even have time to turn and look or shout out a warning before everything went to hell.

It all happened so quickly Canada never quite knew exactly what had occurred. All he knew was that one moment America was eyeing the car as if it might attack them at any moment, Harry was trying to find their trail of spiders again with Fang cowering at his side, and Ron was staring in horror at something. The next moment, several large and hairy somethings had snatched them away. Canada just had time to catch a glimpse of them before they vanished. _Huge… hairy… were those eight legs? I've read about these before, I think. Acromantulas. Oh, maple leaf, this is bad._

Then something occurred to him. _Wait, why am I still here? They took the others, even Fang! Why would they leave me behind? They've got eight eyes, surely they must have noticed me? Right? _His stomach obtained a distinct sinking feeling. _Right?! You've got to be kidding me! Not even magical creatures with eight eyes can notice me?! How is that even possible! Wait, why am I focusing on that? I need to be focusing on saving them!_

He looked down at his wand. _Do I know any spells to help? All I learned from Duelling Club was Expelliarmus, and I haven't learned a single thing in Defence Against the Dark Arts. How am I going to fight off all those spiders? I'm not America, I can't just punch my way through… I need a plan. Also, I need to figure out where the Acromantulas have taken them… something that big must leave a trail, hopefully I can follow it. And then once I get there… I have no idea how many of them there will be. I wish England were here. He'd know what to do._

His thoughts were interrupted by a honk. He whirled around to see Kumachickadee sitting in the driver's seat of the car, honking the horn. "Who are you?" he asked.

Well, it wasn't like there was anyone around. "I'm Canada."

"Get in, Canada. I can't drive this thing." The bear clambered into the passenger seat and stared at him pointedly until he did as he was told.

Canada patted the steering wheel a bit awkwardly. "So, you're alive, eh." The car let out an affirmative noise. "Okay. It's nice to meet you, car. Can you follow the trail those spiders left?" The car responded by rolling off into the trees, following the path of destruction.

"Wait, so I didn't really need you?" said Kumajamaica.

"I guess not, eh," said Canada. "So, what's the plan? We crash into wherever it is the others are being held, get them in here as quickly as possible, and then haul out of there as fast as possible?"

Kumacrash nodded. "Sounds good to me." His nose twitched. "Hey, I think I smell something." He flailed futilely at the glove compartment. "Would you mind helping me with this?"

"Sure. Ugh!" Canada tried not to gag as a dead squirrel fell out of the compartment as soon as he opened it. He watched the bear chow down on it for a few moments in silence before saying, "You know, you haven't been talking much lately. Are you feeling okay?"

Kumajoker swallowed and said, "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just that you always seem to be surrounded by humans, and they always seem to freak out whenever I say anything. You're trying to lay low, right? Plus talking is a bit of a hassle. I'm still a bear, after all." He returned to his meal. The car let out a noise that seemed to somehow transmit the thought, 'At least you _can _talk, furball.'

As they trundled along, Canada saw the path become larger, as if more Acromantulas had joined the procession. _We must be getting close. _He clutched his wand, desperately trying to remember any more useful spells he had ever been taught. Sadly, it seemed that the Hogwarts curriculum left the spells for dealing with armies of giant spiders for third years and up. It seemed that dragging America, Harry, Ron and Fang into the car and running (or driving, as the case may be) was their best option.

Finally they reached the crest of a hill and saw their destination. It was a hollow full of spiderwebs. It was a bit hard to see anything else, since it seemed filled with Acromantulas. Squinting slightly, Canada thought he saw a flash of blond hair buried beneath an onslaught of the things. He gave the car a thump. "Let's go!"

The car let out a huge honk and roared down the slope towards their friends. Spiders were knocked aside by their speedy passage, clearing a path. They quickly reached their targets and pulled to a stop. Canada leaped out of the car and ran towards where America was struggling to fend off a veritable horde of spiders. It seemed to be increasingly in vain, as his limbs were bound by their webs. Canada pulled his wand out and waved it wildly at an Acromantula about to sink its venomous pincers into his brother. Despite not thinking of a particular spell, _something _must have happened, because the spider was knocked back into several of its brethren. Canada slung America over his shoulder and sprinted back to the car, where Kumakiki, Harry, Ron and Fang were waiting anxiously.

Canada threw himself and America into the back seat with Fang and slammed the door behind him. "Go, go, go, go!" he ordered, and the car obeyed him.

It took a few moments for the adrenaline to fade enough for Canada to stop jittering. Now that they were out of harm's way, he gave America a good look. There was a gash on his cheek, his glasses were broken, the hair on the back of his head was caked in blood, and he was still swaddled in webbing, but Canada had seem him in far worse states.

America's head drooped on his shoulder and he was breathing heavily as Canada freed him from his bindings with a quick spell. "Bro… that… was close."

"Sorry I couldn't arrive sooner," Canada murmured, taking off America's glasses and tapping them with his wand. "_Reparo!_" He handed them back to America. "There you go. Good as new, eh."

America put them back on. "Thanks… don't know what I'd do without my Texas…" Then he slumped against Fang and fell asleep. Canada rolled his eyes. _Well, I can't really blame him. It is getting pretty late._

It took them about twenty minutes to finally make it out of the forest. They all remained silent for the trip. Harry and Ron both seemed in shock after their kidnapping, and Canada didn't want to wake up America. Eventually, though, the trees thinned, and the car stopped so abruptly America was jerked out of his sleep. "Gnh – wha? Where'd the magic deodorant go?"

Canada chuckled. "You have the weirdest dreams, don't you." He nudged his brother. "I think the car wants us to leave." Indeed, all the doors had swung open of their own accord. They all got out (Fang literally leapt out and ran back to Hagrid's house with his tail between his legs), and the car closed its doors again and drove back into the forest. Canada waved goodbye.

Harry went back into the cabin, probably to get the Invisibility Cloak, while Ron went to the pumpkin patch and started throwing up. Canada turned to America. "So, what happened? Did you find anything out?"

America grinned. "Oh, boy, did we!" And so America told him all about Aragog, and how Hagrid had been framed and there it was an entirely different monster that had been doing all this. By the time Harry emerged from Hagrid's house with Invisibility Cloak in hand, Canada was all caught up.

"Follow the spiders," said Ron weakly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve after recovering from his vomiting episode. "I'll never forgive Hagrid. We're lucky to be alive."

"I bet he thought Aragog wouldn't hurt friends of his," said Harry.

"That's exactly Hagrid's problem!" said Ron, thumping the wall of the cabin. "He always thinks monsters aren't as bad as they're made out, and look where it's got him! A cell in Azkaban!" He was shivering uncontrollably now. "What was the point of sending us in there? What have we found out, I'd like to know?"

Canada wrapped a reassuring arm around his shoulders. "We found out Hagrid is innocent," he said gently. "Doesn't that count for something, eh?" Ron let out an unsatisfied grunt, but he seemed to calm down a bit. "None of us are thinking clearly right now," Canada continued. "It's late, and we've all been through a lot. Let's just head back to the castle and sleep on it. We'll all feel much better in the morning."

**A/N: Whew, I did it. *collapses* JK. But, seriously, this seemed way too hard for me to write. HUGS FOR FINALLY DOING WHAT I PROMISED TWO CHAPTERS AGO! \(^-^)/ Time for Q&A! To RussianMochi: It's true! Officially, anyway. I can't speak for all other countries in the world, but here in Canada both are often used. 'Zed' is considered the more proper pronunciation, though, so if you use 'zee' there's a pretty good chance someone will correct you. Aren't the differences between cultures fascinating? To Actual God: STOP SUGGESTING THINGS PEOPLE GRRRRAAAAAH! But thanks. To Marzue: Thanks! And my update time varies. I'd have to say it's usually late morning (if the writing comes easily) or at night (if it doesn't). Pacific Standard Time. And I'll take your suggestions into consideration. I can promise nothing more. To SoulxMakaLover37: ****_What a piece of work is man, In movement, how like an angel, in apprehension, how like a god. _****I hope I quoted that right. I'm just trying to remember from the top of my head. Sorry for no werewolf reaction yet. To freyiejj: I have no idea how long this will take me... a considerable amount of time, certainly. And yay for the World Twinkle! NEXT CHAPTER: Canada notices Ginny acting oddly. See you all next time!**


	36. Chapter 35

**CHAPTER 35: THE END BEGINS**

"Moaning Myrtle? Seriously?"

The morning after the whole Acromantula incident, America had rushed over to Canada and dragged him to the side of the hall to tell him about Harry's brainwave the previous night. "Yeah, dude, seriously. It totally makes sense, though, right?"

Canada nodded. "I suppose… Now that I think about it, a bathroom would be an odd place for a ghost to haunt by choice… I just feel silly for never asking her about this before, eh."

America grinned. "Yeah, yeah, but the important thing is we can ask her about this _now_. If we can sneak off and talk to her, we could totally crack this case! Man, saying that makes me feel like a super cool detective."

Canada smirked. "Yup, you're becoming a regular Sherlock Holmes, eh."

"I know, right? I just need to find a pipe and one of those weird hats and the school will be saved!"

Joking aside, it was quite the discovery. After months without making any real progress, they were getting so close to solving the mystery Canada could almost taste it. It tasted like pancakes. Wait, maybe that was just the aftertaste of his breakfast. Pancakes aside, it seemed they had a new goal; sneak off and question Moaning Myrtle. That would be much easier said than done. The teachers were watching them all so closely Canada doubted even someone as ignored as himself could get away. Why did things always have to be so difficult?!

Something happened at the end of his first class of the day to take the Chamber of Secrets completely off of Canada's mind. Just as everyone was packing up their things to go to their next class, Professor Flitwick announced that their exams would start on the first of June. One week away.

"Are you serious?!" demanded Zacharias Smith. "We're still getting _exams_?!"

"We can't ignore your education just because a monster is on the loose," squeaked Flitwick. "I'm sure you've all been revising hard. Now, let's be off!"

_Revising hard?! Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! _ Canada felt on the verge of a panic attack. _ Maple leaf! I've been so focused on the Chamber of Secrets, I completely forgot about exams! I need to start studying!_ As they walked to History of Magic he pulled a random textbook out of his bag and began flipping through it. _Okay, Transfiguration… What's this diagram? I can't remember it… What's the formula for that spell? Oh, no, I'm going to fail, aren't I?_

Looking up, he realized he was hardly alone in his panic. Hannah seemed to be paralyzed, eyes wide open and mouth opening and closing. Ernie was having to literally drag her along. Susan Bones and Wayne Hopkins were talking anxiously, desperately trying to remember anything they'd learned all year that might come up in the exams. _With the school in the state it's in right now, I don't think a lot of people are going to get good grades._

*time skip*

Four days later Canada was so exhausted he was in serious danger of falling asleep at breakfast and drowning in his porridge. He'd spent the nights since the announcement of their exams cramming every scrap of knowledge he could find into his head. _I have History of Magic first thing today, right? Maybe I'll just take a nap then. I'll ask Ernie for his notes. _Canada was so out of it that he almost didn't register Professor McGonagall standing up and announcing, "I have good news."

The Great Hall erupted. "Dumbledore's coming back!" several people yelled joyfully.

"You've caught the Heir of Slytherin!" squealed a girl on the Ravenclaw table.

"Quidditch matches are back on!" roared Oliver Wood excitedly.

"GEORGE LUCAS IS MAKING MORE STAR WARS MOVIES!" America bellowed hopefully. That earned him quite a few stares from the less Muggle-savvy students.

When the hubbub had subsided, Professor McGonagall said, "Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit."

There was an explosion of cheering. Canada, tired as he was, joined in with much enthusiasm. _Finally! I guess it doesn't matter that I completely forgot to ask Myrtle about what killed her. Hermione will probably be able to figure it all out. Oh, but she's going to be pissed when she finds out we've got exams in three days… _

Once the cheering settled down, Canada glanced over at the Gryffindor table and saw something a bit odd. Ginny Weasley was sitting next to Ron, and even from another table it was clear as daylight that she was acting oddly. Eyes darting around, rocking back and forth slightly, hands probably twisting in her lap… Almost everything about her behaviour set off alarm bells in Canada's head. _She knows something, and she's trying to tell them. But what does she know? Is it about the Chamber of Secrets? If so, why wouldn't she have said anything before? At this point, any information she could give would be a bit redundant, wouldn't it?_ Then Percy showed up and scared her off. Canada had to fight down the urge to throw the nearest sharp object at his head.

Still, even with a possible informant being scared off, Canada couldn't help but smile as he went to History of Magic. For the first time in what felt like years, the atmosphere in Hogwarts was downright cheerful. His classmates were eagerly discussing how great it would be to have Justin back, and Canada was so caught up in it he forgot to ask America about what had happened with Ginny.

Once they all arrived at class, Professor Binns began lecturing and Canada was asleep even before his head hit the desk. Seriously, if someone recorded his lecturing and sold it as a sleeping aid, that person would be a millionaire overnight.

His nap didn't last long, sadly. After weeks of silence in the hallways during classes, Canada's ears must have become much more sensitive to noises outside the classroom. When he first woke up, he couldn't figure out why he wasn't still asleep. Then he pricked his ears and heard soft, almost silent footsteps in the hall. _Who could that be? What are they doing outside of class? _He was still half-asleep, so finding out who it was seemed to be of vital importance. Counting on Professor Binns' complete disregard for his students and the atrophied state of his fellow students' brains, he snuck out of class without incident. As he stuck his head out into the hallway he saw a flash of long red hair swish around the corner. Closing the door behind him, he began to follow.

His heart leapt into his throat when he realized it was Ginny. After a few minutes of following Canada realized that she was acting oddly. Not oddly like during breakfast, all nervous and anxious. It was difficult to describe, really, what exactly was off about her. Eventually Canada decided that it was the complete lack of any sort of inconsistency or tic – no looking to the side, no tucking hair behind the ear, no fiddling with the sleeves of her robes… nothing. No unnecessary movement. When technology advanced enough to create androids, they'd probably move like Ginny was right now.

Canada was just starting to think that he really should go talk to a teacher about this when they arrived at the corridor where it all began. The _Enemies of the Heir, Beware _message was still shining on the wall. Ginny stopped in front of the wall, and for the first time Canada noticed that she was carrying a jar full of something red. _How did I not notice that before?! _He was so busy staring that he didn't notice he was heading into a wall until it was too late.

"Sorry," he said automatically as he crashed into it. Ginny whirled around, and Canada froze. Part of it was his reaction to being caught, the other part was his reaction to Ginny's face. It was completely blank, devoid of emotion. "Eh, um, h-hello, Ginny," Canada stammered, fighting down his instinct to flee. Ginny responded with a strange, rasping, hissing noise that seemed oddly familiar. Canada took a step towards her, if only to prove to himself that his legs hadn't turned to lead when he wasn't looking. "Ginny, what are you doing? What's wrong?" There was not even the most minute change in her expression. "Can you even hear me right now?"

Then something emerged from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Canada only remembered a pair of great, big yellow eyes before he slipped into nothingness.

**A/N: And so we end on a cliffhanger. HUGS \(^-^)/ Also, THE 2011 CHRISTMAS EVENT IS FINALLY BEING CONTINUED YAY! We shall finally find out who the hell was in that rabbit costume! It's late and I'm tired, though, so let's just get through this quickly. Q&A! To RussianMochi: I can totally imagine Kumajiro doing that. And no Nyotalia in this fic, though I do find them very interesting. I have to say my favourite would be Nyo!Prussia, if only because I like imagining how her interactions with Nyo!Hungary went. To namenumbers: Not planning any major romance. There might be a little bit in Goblet of Fire if my current plans come to fruition, but it wouldn't last very long. I don't really like writing romance. To Serebiiet: It might change, but right now I'm imagining Erin as being very cheerful and friendly most of the time, but rather cold and harsh towards England. And when drunk she becomes a rampaging force of destruction. Also, yes, England was in Slytherin. Thanks for all your great comments! To SoulxMakaLover37: Eat it, of course! And I don't know, I don't actually eat chocolate all that often... I've never heard of it giving you weird dreams before. Maybe I'll look it up in the morning. Anyways, thank you all for being so great and supportive with your reviews! We're nearing the end, so I'm starting the page countdown again. Pages Left: 38. NEXT CHAPTER: Even while Petrified, Hermione provides vital information. See you all next time!**


	37. Chapter 36

**CHAPTER 36: REVEALATIONS**

America wasn't about to let this mystery be solved without him being the hero, so he was resolved to sneak away and talk to Moaning Myrtle even if he had to beat a teacher over the head to do it. And oh happy coincidence, they were lead to their second class of the day by Glinda the Sparkly Wizard, who had been begging to be hit in the head all year.

"Mark my words," he said, ushering them around a corner. "The first words out of those poor Petrified people's mouths will be '_it was Hagrid'. _Frankly, I'm astounded Professor McGonagall thinks all these security measures are necessary." America surreptitiously took one of his books out of his bag and began sneaking up to Glinda.

"I agree, sir," said Harry, causing both America and Ron to drop their books in shock.

"Thank you, Harry," said Glinda graciously, while they waited for a long line of Hufflepuffs to pass. "I mean, we teachers have quite enough to be getting on with, without walking students to classes and standing guard all night…"

"That's right," said Ron, apparently catching whatever horrid disease Harry had suddenly come down with. "Why don't you leave us here, sir, we've only got one more corridor to go."

"You know, Weasley, I think I will. I really should go and prepare my next class." And so Glinda flitted away.

America gasped in realization. "Oooohhh, I see what you did there." He grinned at Harry and Ron. "Sneaky. I was just going to knock him out and run for it." They let the rest of the Gryffindors draw ahead of them, then darted down a side passage and hurried off towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. But just as victory seemed within reach…

"Potter! Jones! Weasley! What are you doing?" It was Professor McGonagall, who was second only to the Bat-Dude on the list of teachers you didn't want catching you doing something you're not supposed to be doing.

"We were- we were –" Ron stammered. "We were going to – to go and see –"

"Hermione," said Harry. Professor McGonagall and Ron both stared at him in confusion, but America understood what he was doing.

"Yeah, since she's going to be up and walking again soon, we thought we should go and visit her," he lied. "You know, tell her she's gonna be fine and not to worry and stuff."

For a moment America thought McGonagall was going to pull an England and explode, but when she spoke it was in a strangely croaky voice. "Of course," she said, and America was amazed to see her eyes glistening with tears. "Of course, I realise this has all been hardest on the friends of those who have been… I quite understand. Yes, Jones, of course you may visit Miss Granger. I will inform Professor Binns where you've gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey I have given my permission."

America, Harry and Ron walked away, immensely relieved that McGonagall didn't blow a gasket. As they turned the corner, they distinctly heard her blow her nose.

"That," said Ron fervently. "Was the best story you've ever come up with, Alfred."

"What, even better than the one where I broke my leg trying to get ice cream?" Ron simply rolled his eyes in response.

They didn't really have much choice now but to go to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey that they had Professor McGonagall's permission to visit Hermione. She let them in, but reluctantly. "There's just no _point _talking to a Petrified person," she said, and all three of them had to admit she was right when they'd taken their seats next to Hermione. She was still Petrified as… uh… something that was really Petrified. If she was conscious, that just brought a whole new level of horror to the experience that probably wouldn't go away by them telling her it would be all right.

"Wonder if she did see the attacker, though?" said Ron, looking sadly at Hermione's rigid face. "Because if he sneaked up on them all, no one'll ever know…"

"Dude, that would _suck_," said America. "I mean, since our whole 'talk to Moaning Myrtle' plan was a bust, nobody would have a clue how to fix this mess." He noticed Harry acting oddly. "Uh, dude, are you trying to hold her hand or something?"

Harry merely pointed at Hermione's clenched fist. America and Ron looked closer and saw that there was a piece of parchment clamped in it. "Try and get it out," Ron whispered, shifting his chair so that he blocked Harry from Madam Pomfrey's view.

It was clearly no easy task. America would have helped, but it was obvious that strength wasn't the issue here. If he tried, he'd probably just rip the parchment in half on the first try. So he had to just sit there and wait impatiently as Harry tugged and twisted. Finally, after several long minutes, he succeeded, and the three of them huddled together to look at whatever it was. As it turned out, it was a page from a very old library book. Harry smoothed it out eagerly and they all nearly butted heads in their attempt to read it.

_Of all the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it._

And beneath this, a single word had been written in Hermione's handwriting. _Pipes._

America didn't get it. Luckily, Harry did. "This is it," he breathed. "This is the answer." And then he managed to piece together the mystery. The voice Harry had been hearing was the Basilisk's, since he was a Parselmouth. None of the victims had died because none of them had looked it directly in the eye (except for Nearly Headless Nick, but, you know, already dead). Hagrid's roosters were killed so they couldn't crow and kill the Basilisk, all the spiders had run away… It all made sense. And Hermione had figured out how a gigantic snake was making its way through the school undetected, naturally.

"Pipes," said Harry. "Pipes… Ron, Alfred, it's been using the plumbing. I've been hearing that voice inside the walls…"

Ron suddenly grabbed Harry's arm. "The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets!" he said hoarsely. "What if it's a bathroom? What if it's in-"

"_- Moaning Myrtle's bathroom_," said Harry.

America crossed his arms, pouting. "Aw, man, I totally thought my giant frog theory was right… well, I was close enough, right?"

Harry and Ron ignored him. "This means," said Harry. "I can't be the only Parselmouth in the school. The Heir of Slytherin's one too. That's how they've been controlling the Basilisk."

"What're we going to do?" said Ron, whose eyes were flashing. "Shall we go straight to McGonagall?"

"Let's go to the staff room," said Harry, jumping up. "She'll be there in ten minutes, it's nearly break." They all ran downstairs. America still felt a bit bummed out that he'd been wrong, but that was offset by his joy at being able to be one of the heroes who figured out what Slytherin's monster was and where the Chamber of Secrets was located. Man, he was _awesome! _They ran straight to the deserted staff room and paced around it as they waited, too excited to sit down.

But the bell to signal break never came. Instead, echoing through the corridors came Professor McGonagall's voice, magically magnified. "_All students to return to their house dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please._"

America looked for somewhere to hide. He doubted they'd be able to get back to Gryffindor Tower without getting caught, so hiding seemed their best option. His eyes landed on a wardrobe full of the teachers' cloaks. "Dudes, in here! We'll listen in and tell them what we know after!" Ignoring any protests they made, he pushed Harry and Ron into the closet and followed them in, hiding behind the cloaks.

From their hiding place they watched the teachers filtering into the room. Some of them were looking puzzled, others downright scared. It was a bit unnerving to see them so… _human_. Then Professor McGonagall arrived. "It has happened," she told the silent staff room. "Two students have been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself."

America's stomach plummeted. Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout clapped her hands over her mouth. The Bat-Dude gripped the back of a chair very hard and said, "How can you be sure?"

"The Heir of Slytherin," said a very pale McGonagall. "Left another message. Right underneath the first one. _Their skeletons will lie in the Chamber forever._"

Professor Flitwick burst into tears. "Who is it?" said Madam Hooch, who had sunk, weak-kneed into a chair. "Which students?"

"Ginny Weasley and Matthew Jones," said Professor McGonagall.

Ron slid silently down onto the wardrobe floor, and America felt Harry's hand clap over his mouth. Why would he do that? America had suddenly lost any ability to make a sound. His whole body seemed to have gone numb. _Canada…_ Professor McGonagall said something, but he didn't hear it. The world outside of his own body seemed so distant. What could she possibly be saying that mattered when Canada was… he didn't even know what had happened to him. Surely he was still alive. He was a nation. But… what happened to a nation if they looked a Basilisk in the eye? It wasn't like everyone in that country would suddenly drop dead… was it? Oh, God, it couldn't be…

Then Glinda the Sparkly Wizard's voice broke through America's inner turmoil. "So sorry – dozed off – what have I missed?" America closed his eyes. If he had to look at that asshole right now, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from running out and beating him until he felt some increment better.

"Just the man," came the Bat-Dude's voice. "The very man. A boy and girl have been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last."

"That's right, Gilderoy," chipped in Professor Sprout. "Weren't you saying just last night that you've known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?"

"I – well, I –" spluttered Glinda.

"Yes, didn't you tell me you were sure you knew what was inside it?" piped up Professor Flitwick.

"D-did I? I don't recall…"

"I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn't had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested," said the Bat-Dude. "Didn't you say that the whole affair had been bungled, and that you should have been given a free rein from the first?"

Glinda's voice was shaking badly as he said, "I… I really never… You may have misunderstood…"

"We'll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy," said Professor McGonagall. "Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We'll make sure everyone's out of your way. You'll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself. A free rein at last."

After a few moments of silence, Glinda's voice said in a resigned way, "V-very well. I'll – I'll be in my office, getting – getting ready." His footsteps sounded, and the door opened and closed.

"Right," said Professor McGonagall. "That got _him_ out from under our feet. The Heads of Houses should go and inform their students what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside their dormitories."

America heard footsteps and the sound of the door opening as the teachers left one by one. When things were silent, he opened his eyes and saw that they'd all gone. Then, for the first time in decades at the least, he burst into tears.

**A/N: MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I enjoyed reading all of your shocked reviews waaaaay too much. And if you want to read the Hetalia Christmas event, you can just head over to Hetascanlations. Right now Himaruya-sensei (should I be using honorifics for him? I dunno, I don't speak Japanese) is just doing requests, but hopefully he'll continue the storyline soon. Pages Left: 32. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada finds himself in the Chamber of Secrets (yes, he's still alive). See you all next time!**


	38. Chapter 37

**CHAPTER 37: CHAMBER OF LIES**

Nothingness, Canada realized, was not nearly as liberating as some believed it to be. It wasn't dark or cold. It was the complete cessation of sensation. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't feel anything. Even the sounds and feelings within his own body – his heartbeat and all the other little processes he hadn't been aware of – had vanished. Even his own thoughts seemed sluggish and not working properly. The most coherent thought he managed to come up with was, _Please, please, anything but this._ He'd been shot, stabbed, exploded, crushed, drowned, burned, and all other sorts of injured to the point any normal human would be dead. At the time he'd screamed and wished he were human, wished for the pain to end. He'd rather go through all of those experiences a thousand times than have to continue in this oblivion for another second.

His sensation of time passing had been stripped from him, too, so he had no idea how long he spent in that void. It could have been eternity, it could have been a single moment. However long it was, suddenly, it was gone. For a split second he was in a canoe floating in a lake, fishing pole in hand and feeling a lot bigger than normal. Then he was back in Hogwarts and feeling as small as he usually did nowadays.

He took in a deep, shuddering breath. He'd never appreciated just how sweet air tasted until now. He examined the stone ceiling above him with a fervor it had likely never before experienced. He relished the feel of his clothes against his skin, the coldness of the floor against any exposed flesh. Really, he'd never appreciated any of his senses enough. He was so caught up in the euphoria of sensation that he was actually happy to feel someone grab him beneath the arms and drag him away. He was positively thrilled when that person threw him into what felt like a somewhat slimey waterslide. It wasn't until he'd been dragged into a chamber full of snake imagery that he actually began to think about the meaning behind what he was seeing.

_Wait… where the hell am I?! _He sat up, thinking over his journey. _I woke up I the hall where I saw those eyes… then I got dragged into a bathroom… must have been Moaning Myrtle's… then I got sent down a pipe and dragged a bit more… _His eyes lingered on the snakes carved into the pillars decorating the chamber. _Wait… no way. Am I… in the Chamber of Secrets?! Did those eyes belong to Slytherin's monster?!_

He felt as if he were on the edge of a breakthrough. _What is Slytherin's monster? It must be able to kill with its gaze alone… I remember reading about that somewhere… where was it… _His gaze again fell on the pillars. He could have facepalmed. _Of course! A Basilisk! Slytherin was a Parselmouth, he'd be able to control it! I never read about it Petrifying anyone… ah, but nobody looked at it directly, did they? And that voice Harry's been hearing must have been it! Now if only I could actually tell anyone about it…_

He got to his feet somewhat shakily and turned around. Then he had to crane his neck up quite a bit. He was standing at the feet of an enormous statue of an old man with a long beard. _Is that Slytherin, then? I never imagined him looking quite so… monkey-like. _Then he caught a glimpse of bright red hair from the corner of his eye. He turned to look at Ginny. She was still wearing that creepy non-expression. "Ginny, what's going on?" he asked. Once again, she didn't respond. Exasperated, Canada clapped his hands right in front of her face. "GINNY! RESPOND, EH!" She didn't. Canada took a step away from her. "Okay. You're clearly unaware of what you're doing. Mind control, then? Wait, why am I saying this out loud?" He switched to a purely internal monologue.

_Okay, so Ginny's not in control of her own actions. If this has happened to her before, it's no wonder she tried reaching out to Ron. Once again, I sarcastically thank you, Percy. There are so many questions that need to be answered. How long has this been going on? Who is doing this to her? Does she remember what she's doing? I doubt she'll be able to answer in this state…_

Canada sat down with his back leaning against Salazar Slytherins' statue feet. "Well, so long as you're not talking, I guess I'll just sit here." And so he did. As he sat, he thought some more, since mind-controlled Ginny wasn't exactly a good conversation partner. _I wish Kumadeniro were here… I left him behind in class, didn't I? He must be so worried… Is America worried, too? He's probably just jealous that I found a way into the villain's lair before he did. Have any of the teachers noticed I'm gone? They must have noticed Ginny missing, at least. Are they going to try and rescue us? I hope so. I don't see any food around here, and while it is rather damp I'd rather not drink any of the water in here. It doesn't seem very clean. Maybe I should save them the trouble and see if I can save us myself… _He stood up and began investigating the Chamber. Ginny didn't react, just as expected.

His hopes turned out to be for naught, of course. The closest thing he found to a door was two snakes carved into the wall with emeralds for eyes. He pulled at them and tapped them with his wand, but nothing happened. He sighed in resignation and went to return to his seat. As soon as the statue came into view, though, he received a surprise in the form of someone tackling him. He tensed and balled his hands into fists in preparation for a fight, but then he realized that it was an enthusiastic hug, not an attack.

"Matthew!" Ginny sobbed into his shoulder. "Oh, thank God, I thought I was alone!"

Canada, after the initial surprise wore off, hugged her back. "You're not, eh," he murmured gently. It seemed like a bad time to ask upsetting questions, so he just held her as comfortingly as he could and let her cry.

Eventually her sobs petered out and she released him, taking a step back. Brushing the remaining tears from her eyes, she looked around the room. "Wh-where are we?"

Canada struggled to think of a delicate way to tell her. "Well, I can't be absolutely sure, eh, but I think it's possible that we might be in the Chamber of Secrets."

It seemed he wasn't delicate enough, because she promptly burst into tears again. "I-I should have known i-it would end up like this," she choked out between sobs. "I-I should have never trusted R-Riddle…"

"Riddle?" asked Canada. "As in, _Tom_ Riddle? The owner of that diary Harry found?"

Ginny's weeping increased to the point speaking was impossible. She merely pointed mutely at the floor near the statue's toes. Canada looked and saw a small black book. _The diary! _He reached for it, but stopped about halfway there. _Actually, considering what it's done to Ginny, I'd best not. _Turning back to the girl, he put his hands on her shoulders and said gently, "Ginny, I know how scared you must be, but I need you to tell me everything you know about Riddle and the Chamber of Secrets. We might be able to find a way out of here."

Ginny closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. When she opened them again they were still red from crying, but there was determination in them. "I found the diary with all the other books I got from Diagon Alley," she explained, her voice choked but surprisingly steady. "I thought it was just a normal diary at first, so I began writing in it. Then, one day, it started writing back. He… seemed so nice, I thought I could trust him. I felt like I could tell him everything I was too afraid or ashamed to tell anyone else… Then I started having blackouts. I found myself covered in rooster feathers without any recollection of how they got there. I couldn't remember anything that happened Halloween night, when Mrs. Norris was attacked. And I couldn't remember where I was when all the other attacks happened. Eventually I started to suspect Riddle and I tried to throw away the diary, but then I saw Harry with it on Valentine's Day and… I panicked. I thought Riddle would tell him everything, so I waited until his dormitory was empty and stole it back. And now I'm here…" Tears started leaking from her eyes again. "I-I'm so sorry, Matthew! All the attacks… I'm the one who did them! I-It's all my fault!"

Canada hugged her again. "No, it's not. I saw you, you clearly had no idea what you were doing, eh. It was all Riddle." Suddenly he felt Ginny go rigid. He stepped back. "What's wrong?"

She was staring at him suspiciously. "What are you doing here, Matthew?"

"Oh… um…" _I can't tell her I died, now can I? I might as well start with the truth… _"I saw you in the halls during class, and you were acting very strangely, so I followed you to the hall where the first attack happened. You took out a jar of red paint, or maybe it was blood, and then you noticed me watching." _Okay, here's where it gets tricky. Try not to look like you're making it up as you go along, me. _"Then you summoned the Basilisk, and I… managed to get a good look at it without looking it in the eyes, so you knocked me out and must have dragged me down here so I couldn't tell anyone." _Okay, good, hopefully she'll buy that. I'm getting good at this whole lying thing._

Ginny's eyes widened and she took another step back. "I… I don't remember any of that… Slytherin's monster is a Basilisk? I… I didn't…" Her voice trailed off as her eyes glazed over and she started swaying. "I… I don't feel so…" Canada just barely managed to catch her before she collapsed.

**A/N: Look, Canada's still alive, see? Did you guys really think I'd kill him off? You have so little faith in me. HUGS FOR CANADA NOT BEING DEAD! \(^-^)/ Now for a short Q&A! To SoulxMakaLover37: I never thought of that... That would impede the current plot, though, so in this universe at least glasses don't help you. Interesting thought, though. To Marzue: I've got no idea if the Trio will find out. We'll have to wait and see! Pages Left: Same as last time because this was in no way in the book. NEXT CHAPTER: Harry decides to take matters into his own hands. See you all next time!**


	39. Chapter 38

**CHAPTER 38: THE DARK DESCENT**

It was probably the worst day of Harry's entire life. He, Ron, Fred and George sat together in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, unable to say anything to each other. Percy and Alfred weren't there. They'd both gone to send letters to their parents (or guardian, in Alfred's case) and only Percy had returned, muttering something about Alfred needing to go to the bathroom, and then shut himself up in his dormitory.

Harry felt rather guilty for not being there for Alfred. The Weasleys were all upset enough about Ginny, but Alfred had completely broken down when he heard Matthew was quite possibly dead. Both Harry and Ron had been so shocked to see the usually so cheerful boy break down in tears that they hadn't been able to provide the comfort and reassurances they should have. Not that they'd been in the best state to be cheering someone up, of course. Now it seemed Harry had lost two of his best friends to the Chamber of Secrets, and it was quite possible he wouldn't be getting one of them back.

No afternoon ever lasted as long as that one, nor had Gryffindor tower ever been so crowded, yet so quiet. Near sunset, Fred and George went up to bed, unable to sit there any longer.

"She knew something, Harry," said Ron, speaking for the first time since they had entered the wardrobe in the staff room. "That's why she was taken. It wasn't some stupid thing about Percy at all. She'd found out something about the Chamber of Secrets. That must be why she was –" Ron rubbed his eyes frantically. "I mean, she was a pure-blood. There can't be any other reason. And Matthew…" He frowned. "Why would they take Matthew? He didn't know any more about the Chamber than we did… he knew even less, actually. He didn't know the monster was a Basilisk…"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe he found out something." He could see the sun sinking, blood-red, below the skyline. This was the worst he had ever felt. If only there was something they could do. Anything.

"Harry," said Ron. "D'you think there's any chance at all they're not – you know –" Harry didn't know what to say. He couldn't see how Ginny and Matthew could still be alive. "D'you know what?" said Ron. "I think we should go and see Lockhart. Tell him what we know. He's going to try and get into the Chamber. We can tell him where we think it is, and tell him it's a Basilisk in there."

Because Harry couldn't think of anything else to do, and because he wanted to be doing something, he agreed. The Gryffindors around them were so miserable, and felt so sorry for the Weasleys, that nobody tried to stop them as they got up, crossed the room, and left through the portrait hole. Darkness was falling as they walked down to Lockhart's office. There seemed to be a lot of activity going on inside it. They could hear scraping, thumps, hurried footsteps, and loud voices. Well, one loud voice. One loud, familiar voice.

Harry knocked and there was a sudden silence from inside. Then the door was flung open by the owner of that familiar voice. "Dudes, I was wondering when you'd show up!" Alfred almost shouted. Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling again, even if there was a worrying manic edge to it. "I was just going to ask Glinda here to let me come along to save Mattie, but… well…" He took a step to the side and gestured to the office.

It had been almost completely stripped. Two large trunks stood open on the floor. Robes, jade-green, lilac, midnight blue, had been hastily folded into one of them; books were jumbled untidily into the other. The photographs that had covered the walls were now crammed into boxes on the desk. And in the middle of it, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, stood Professor Lockhart. "Er… h-hello, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," he stammered. "I, um, j-just received a u-urgent call… g-got to go…"

"Oh, yeah, the call of cowardice is totally unavoidable," snarled Alfred with a look so fierce Harry felt genuinely frightened of him for a moment. Then he turned back to them and the smile was back in place. "I tried to find the entrance to the Chamber by myself, but I couldn't, so I decided to give Glinda a try and unsurprisingly that failed miserably. I don't suppose you two have figured it out?"

"No," said Harry. He turned on Lockhart, who seemed to visibly shrink under his glare. "Are you _running away? _ After all that stuff you did in your books?"

"Books can be misleading," said Lockhart delicately.

"You wrote them!" Harry shouted.

"Yeah, but that doesn't exactly mean it's true, does it?" said Alfred. "He told me all about it. His books are basically the longest, most lucrative self-insert fanfiction that ever existed." Everyone else in the room stared at him in confusion. He rolled his eyes and explained, "Okay, you know all those adventures he wrote about? He wasn't the one who did them. He just stole the stories from the people who were actually the heroes and then wiped their memories so they wouldn't be able to contradict him when he wrote himself as the main character."

During Alfred's speech, Lockhart had been finishing his packing. "Let's see," he said as he banged the lids of his trunks shut and locked them. "I think that's everything. Yes. Only one thing left." He pulled out his wand and turned to them. "Awfully sorry, boys, but I'll have to put a Memory Charm on you now. Can't have you blabbing my secrets all over the place. I'd never sell another book…"

Harry reached for his wand, but Alfred was quicker. Before Lockhart could utter a sound the American had put him into what looked like a very painful arm-hold. "Listen here, Sparkles," he growled into the professor's ear. "My brother's trapped in that Chamber going through God knows what, so I'm not exactly feeling patient. Drop your wand, or I break your arm. Understood?" Lockhart let out a squeak and dropped the wand obediently. "Good boy." Alfred released him, picking up the wand from the floor. "So, what do you dudes want to do with him?" he asked, his normal cheerful demeanor back with such suddenness he should have gotten whiplash.

Harry deliberated for a moment, then said, "We'll bring him with us. He said he'd rescue Ginny and Matthew. Might as well have him keep that promise."

Alfred shrugged. "All righty, dude." He grabbed Lockhart by the back of the collar. "Come on, then, Glinda, we're off to the bathroom! Lead on, Harry!" And so the four of them made their way through the halls of the castle until finally they reached Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Alfred pushed Lockhart in first. Harry was pleased to see the professor was shaking.

Harry and Ron both gasped in shock as they entered the bathroom. It looked as if a small hurricane had ravaged it. Broken pieces of stone, porcelain, wood and mirror were all scattered across the floor. Just about everything looked broken. A white bear cub noticed their arrival and delicately picked his way over to them, avoiding the debris. "What took you so long?" he asked Alfred.

"Met some friends along the way," said Alfred, pointing to Harry and Ron. He seemed to notice their horrified expressions and added, "Hey, I said I tried to find the entrance, didn't I?"

Ron stared at him. "_You _did this?! I thought there was another troll loose in the castle?"

Alfred laughed. "I'm gonna take that as a compliment!" He looked around the shattered remains of the bathroom. "So… how were you guys planning on finding the entrance?"

"By asking her," said Harry, pointing to the toilet Moaning Myrtle had just appeared upon.

"Who- AH GOD GHOST! STRATEGIC-" Alfred suddenly cut himself off and shut his eyes. "No… no strategic retreat today, I need to save Mattie. Er… you guys don't mind handling this, do you?" Then he went into a corner and covered his ears, as if to erase all evidence that he was in the same room as a ghost.

The conversation with Moaning Myrtle was fruitful, to say the least. She pointed them to just about the only sink in the room that had remained untouched by Alfred's rampage. After a thorough examination and an order in Parseltongue, it began to move. It sank right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into. "Did you find anything yet?" asked Alfred, gingerly removing his hands from his ears.

"Mate, we just found the entrance!" replied Ron.

Alfred turned, saw the pipe, and let out a happy shout. He ran over to them, looking at the entrance eagerly. "Well, what are we waiting for, dudes?" he asked breathlessly. "Let's go down there, already!"

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. Harry saw his own determination reflected in Ron's eyes. They couldn't _not _go down, not now. Not if there was the faintest, slimmest, wildest chance that Ginny and Matthew might be alive. They both nodded.

Lockhart noticed. "Well, you hardly seem to need me," he said, with a shadow of his old smile. "I'll just-"

"Aw, HELL NAW!" Alfred grabbed him by the back of the collar again and dragged him back over to the pipe. "You're going in first, buddy." And then he threw the professor head-first down the pipe. Ignoring Harry and Ron's incredulous looks, he gave them a cheerful salute, said, "See you on the other side, dudes!" and jumped straight in.

**A/N: We're getting so close! I feel really excited about writing this now that we're at the climax! HUGS! \(^-^)/ Okay, now for Q&A! To RussianMochi: I didn't mean for it to seem like CanadaxGinny. The girl's just going through a lot at the moment, she needs a hug. And as for Riddle... we'll have to see, now won't we? :D To Serebiiet: Canada's had some bad experiences competing against America. They'll stay for the Yule Ball. The only ones who went to Hogwarts were England and his siblings and maybe some of his colonies. All the rest went to nearby schools. And thanks for being so nice! To Marzue: All shall be explained in time. To SoulxMakaLover37: I'd choose the hug power. I feel like if people were nicer a whole lot of the world's problems would be solved. As for the second request... Me: CANADA! Canada: Huh? Who are you? Me: IT DOESN'T MATTER HUUUUUUUGGGGSSSSS! *tackle-hugs* Canada: Wha- Who are you and why are you hugging me, eh?! To SilentMoonLace13: OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM! Coooookkkkiiiiieeeeessss... Thank you all once again for being awesome. Pages Left: 25. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada meets Tom M. Riddle. See you all next time!**


	40. Chapter 39

**CHAPTER 39: PERSUASIVE**

Ginny managed to maintain consciousness for a while. Canada couldn't be sure exactly how long – his watch seemed to have been broken at some point, and there didn't seem to be any clocks in the ancient chamber of evil. She was trying to be brave, that much was clear. But even her best attempt at a stoic expression couldn't hide the tears falling from her eyes and her panicked breathing. Canada had checked her pulse what felt like every few minutes, and to his horror found that it was steadily growing slower. Eventually whatever was happening to her became too much, and she slumped into unconsciousness.

Canada wished he knew any sort of healing spells. Why was it that the school didn't seem to teach first and second years anything useful? But he suspected that even if he did know any, they wouldn't work on whatever was ailing Ginny. So in the end he slipped off his robes, bunched them under her head as a pillow, and cursed himself for his helplessness. Left in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt, within what felt like a few minutes he began to feel a chill spread through him. Which was ridiculous. He was used to temperatures far lower than this. But sometimes a chill had nothing to do with the temperature…

Some instinct made him turn his head to the right and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Something was standing there. At first he thought it was a ghost, since it was nearly transparent. But ghosts were pearly white. The being that had suddenly appeared had normal human colouration, if more transparent than the norm. Whatever the apparition truly was, it looked rather like a human teenager. A rather handsome one, tall with black hair and pale skin. Or maybe that was just his transparentness. Was that word? If it wasn't, it should have been.

"Eh… hello?" said Canada. He really wasn't sure what he was supposed to say in this situation.

The shadow chuckled. "Hello? My, my, but aren't you an interesting one."

"Um… thanks?" Canada was really at a loss here. What the hell was he supposed to be saying? "Who are you, eh?" That seemed like something he should ask. It was more polite than 'what are you'.

The apparition chuckled again. "That question is more complicated than you know. For the moment, I suppose you may call me Riddle."

"Riddle… As in Tom M. Riddle?" _Maple leaf, this isn't good._

"Yes."

"As in Lord Voldemort?"

This seemed to take Riddle aback. "How do you know that?" he demanded.

Canada shrugged, trying not to let his shock at realizing he was facing the most feared Dark Wizard of all time show. "A little bird told me, eh."

Riddle's face was just opaque enough that his displeasure at this answer was discernible. "Well, now that you know who I am, I think it's only fair that you return the favour."

Feeling that he should really stop talking to this thing and break his way out of this Chamber with his bare hands if he had to, Canada said, "I'm Matthew Jones."

"Matthew Jones…" Riddle seemed unimpressed. "What an ordinary name for such a peculiar boy."

"So I should come up with a really pretentious one like you, eh?" The words came out of Canada's mouth before he could stop them. He felt like clapping his hand over his mouth to stop any more coming out, but decided against it. No need to show weakness to the enemy.

Riddle's nostrils flared, and for a moment Canada thought his eyes gained a reddish glint. "You should not be so insolent to your betters, boy."

Deciding to throw any semblance of politeness to the wind, Canada replied, "Oh, I know that. I just wasn't aware one of my betters was around. I didn't notice them, eh." He gave the chamber a mock once-over, making sure to let his eyes linger on Riddle. "Nope, still not seeing any." It was childish and immature, he knew, but he was physically twelve at the moment, he felt he was allowed to act his age.

"You _will _regret that," snarled Riddle. "Once I am again flesh and blood, I shall make sure to kill you first."

"Good luck with that," muttered Canada. Then first part of that sentence registered in his mind. "Wait, what do you mean, 'once I am again flesh and blood'?"

And suddenly Riddle went back to smirking. "Ah, yes. I feel that that explanation can wait until the… aha… guest of honour arrives. Right now, I feel our topic of conversation ought to be you. How did you survive my Basilisk's stare?" he suddenly demanded.

The question's suddenness took Canada by surprise, but its contents did not. He'd had plenty of time to ponder why he'd been dragged down here, and his miraculous survival seemed the most reasonable answer. Of course Voldemort would want to know how a child had survived an attack of his that should have been fatal. He'd probably been wondering about how Harry had done it for years. _There's no way I can tell him the truth, and I doubt he'll buy the 'I didn't look it in the eyes' excuse. He probably saw it all go down through Ginny's eyes. _"Like you said, I'm a peculiar boy," he eventually settled on.

Riddle was nonplussed. "A _very _peculiar boy, it would seem." He began to walk circles around Canada, and the nation noted, to his discomfort, that the shadow had become less shadowy over the course of their conversation. "Are you like me, I wonder? Refusing to accept the fabrication that all things must end? That all must die? No… you aren't quite like me, are you? Even for one as great as I, to meet the gaze of a Basilisk would reduce me to less than a ghost… for you it seemed a mere inconvenience. So tell me; how did you survive?"

_Well, as long as he's being so cryptic, two can play at that game. _"I'm not sure I did, eh," said Canada truthfully. He was fairly certain that he had been legitimately dead for a moment there. That couldn't be called surviving, could it?

This answer made Riddle even more displeased. "You are clearly alive, ergo you survived. It is simple logic. Nobody can fully return from true death," he said, though the slightest hint of doubt showed in that last sentence.

"What, never heard of CPR?" joked Canada.

Amazingly, Riddle seemed to take that remark seriously. "CPR?" he repeated. "What is this CPR?"

Canad rolled his eyes and said, "It's short for cardiopulmonary resuscitation. It's a Muggle first aid technique used on people who has no pulse and has stopped breathing. It was a joke." And, because it was a bit of a pet peeve of his, he continued, "According to movies and TV, it can magically bring people back from the dead, but in reality it's just a method of buying time until the victim can get proper medical care. The point is to just keep circulating the blood and prevent brain damage from lack of oxygen. It works less than one in ten times, and even if the person does survive they'll likely have permanent brain damage, along with broken ribs." He noticed Riddle's blank expression. "Sorry. It just really annoys me when I see it portrayed so incorrectly in media."

Riddle seemed to be speechless for a few moments. Then, in a tone of voice that made it clear that as far as he was concerned the previous minute had not occurred, he said, "If someone truly dies, the closest they can come to life is to leave a ghost behind or be raised as an Inferius. Now, I shall ask only one more time; how did you survive?" Canada responded with only a glare and a shockingly uncharacteristic hand gesture. "Well, you are obviously determined to be uncooperative. We'll see how long that lasts when I am fully reborn. You'll find I can be quite…" He smiled in a way that sent a shiver entirely unrelated to the temperature down Canada's spine. "… persuasive."

**A/N: I get annoyed by Hollywood's complete disregard for research, okay? I mean, really, would it kill them to Google stuff before they write it? It's not that difficult! NON RIB BREAKING HUGS! \(^-^)/ This chapter was a bit shorter than I'd hoped (I usually aim for 1500 words at least), but I couldn't really think of anything else to write. And only one real question for Q&A this time! Gasp! To SoulxMakaLover37: I would throw maple syrup at him and show him all the times I wrote about how awesome he is in this fic. Hopefully that would calm him down. Once again, thank you all for being so great! Pages Left: Same as last time. NEXT CHAPTER: Harry and Kumajiro arrive on the scene. See you all next time!**


	41. Chapter 40

**CHAPTER 40: BORED NOW**

Kumajiro wasn't a happy bear. He wasn't used to being separated from his master like this. Sure, he'd gone off on his own plenty of times, especially to the kitchens, where the little big-eyed people always liked to pet him and give him treats. But what's-his-name had always been there for him to return to at any time. Now, it seemed that if Kumajiro did nothing, he might never be able to return to his master again. The very thought of it brought a growl to his throat.

When he'd first woken up in the sleepy room and found his master absent, he hadn't been worried. Then he'd followed his scent and found that it led to a dead end. A dead end that stank of snake. So he'd gone off to look for what's-his-name's brother and found him marching towards the snake-smelling room. It was only then that Kumajiro learned exactly what had happened, and he and the southern country immediately joined forces to find what's-his-name. Then the brightly coloured human that smelled of hair-gel, the red-furred human with the funny-smelling rat, and the lightning-marked human had joined in.

They'd started following the trail of what's-his-name and the red-furred one's sister, but the hair-gel human had turned on them and tried to do something with a broken stick. Whatever it was obviously went wrong, because the whole chamber had begun to shake and rocks fell from the ceiling. Kumajiro and the lightning-marked human couldn't go back where they'd come from, and the others couldn't move forward. So the human and bear had begun to make their way through the dark, damp tunnel.

The lightning-marked human looked down at him. "So… you can talk?" he asked.

Kumajiro nodded. "Yes. That question would have been rather pointless if I couldn't, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose so…" They lapsed into silence for a few moments, the only sounds being their footsteps and dripping water. "Er, I don't suppose you'd tell me _why _you can talk?" the human eventually asked.

Kumajiro thought over his response. He wasn't entirely sure of the answer himself. All he knew was that when a being like his master bonded with an animal, that animal often gained their master's immortality, and sometimes even the power of speech. At the very least they were all more intelligent than others of their kind. But Kumajiro had always had the feeling that humans weren't supposed to know about his master's kind. "What's-his-name, that's why," he said simply.

"You mean Matthew?" said the lightning-marked one. "You mean he cast a spell on you or something?"

Kumajiro shrugged. It had taken centuries of practice, but nowadays he could mimic human gestures such as that. "Something like that. I don't really understand it." The bear stopped, letting out a frustrated growl. They'd reached another dead end. Two fake snakes were on the wall before him. A wall that stank of what's-his-name. "They're through there. Make your snake noise."

The human complied, letting out a hiss that made Kumajiro's fur stand on end. It seemed to work, since the wall cracked open and slid aside. Kumajiro's nostrils were immediately filled with the smell of his master. He squeezed through the opening as soon as it was large enough to permit his small bulk. He really should have taken in his surroundings at this point, but all his attention was taken by the sight of what's-his-name, clearly alive and well enough to stand.

"Who are you?!" the bear called out, running towards him as fast as his stubby legs could carry him.

"I'm C- wait, Kumajorgan?!" The nation turned away from whatever he'd been looking at to face Kumajiro. His face broke into one of the most relieved smiles Kumajiro had ever seen on it. "Kumajenga!" The two of them ran towards each other, and in less than a minute Kumajiro was back in his master's arms, being hugged just slightly too tightly for comfort, not that he minded.

"Matthew! You're alive!" The lightning-marked one's footsteps could be heard pounding against the stone floor as he ran towards them.

What's-his-name let out a shaky laugh. "Somehow managed it, eh." His expression and tone became much more serious as he added, "You… probably shouldn't have come."

"What do you mean?" asked the lightning-marked one. "Where's Ginny? Is she…" His voice trailed off, apparently unable bring himself to finish that sentence.

What's-his-name took a step to the side and said sadly, "Not yet, but… I don't think she has much longer."

"_Ginny!_" The lightning-marked one ran towards something Kumajiro couldn't see from his current position. What's-his-name's chest was in the way. But he was smart enough to guess that it was the little red-furred female. "Ginny, come on… please wake up…"

"She won't wake," said a soft voice.

Kumajiro twisted in What's-his-name's arms and the nation dropped him to the ground. Some…_thing_ was leaning against the nearest stone-tree-thing. It looked like a black-furred human male, but it was fuzzy around the edges, and it had no smell. _Nothing _didn't have a smell. Nothing natural, anyway. Letting out his best roar (which wasn't very good, he still had the body of a cub), he charged at it. He ended up going straight through it and bumping his head on the stone-tree-thing. Despite the fact that his head was ringing and he was seeing stars, Kumajiro tried his best to figure out what this thing was. It wasn't one of the floaty-dead-cloud-things – it wasn't pale enough, and it hadn't been cold enough when he went through it. And it had offered resistance, like he was trying to wade through thick mud. The bear stumbled back to his master, head still spinning.

"I was wondering when you'd turn up again, eh," said What's-his-name.

"Tom – _Tom Riddle_?" gasped the lightning-marked one. The _thing _nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry's face. "What d'you mean, she won't wake? What's wrong with her?"

"Him. That's what's wrong with her," said What's-his-name, pointing at the _thing_. "Ever since we arrived she's been getting weaker and weaker, and he'd been getting more and more solid. I think he's draining her life-force or something."

"What?!" The lightning-marked one seemed shocked by this. "How? And shouldn't he be older? He looked like that fifty years ago." He turned to stare at the _thing _while What's-his-name shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Are you a ghost?"

"A memory," said the _thing _quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

"You should probably feel honored," said What's-his-name sarcastically. "That's a better answer than I've gotten from him for hours." He glared at the _thing_. "I'm guessing Harry's the 'guest of honour', eh. Will you explain what's going on now? It looks like it's time for your villainous monologue."

"I am not a villain," said the _thing _reproachfully (What's-his-name rolled his eyes at that). "But the time _has _come for you to know the truth."

What's-his-name hadn't been kidding about the whole 'villainous monologue' thing. Well, that wasn't entirely sure. Kumajiro was pretty sure 'monologue' was when only one person talked. The lightning-marked one often interrupted. Whatever sort of logue it was, it went on for far too long and Kumajiro didn't care much in the first place, so he got bored and went over to investigate the little red-furred female. Her skin was as pale as snow, and when the bear pressed his nose against her skin he found it was almost as cold. He pressed his ear to his chest and could just barely hear a heartbeat. Deciding she could use a bit of warmth, he curled up next to her and waited for the _thing _to say something interesting.

It never happened. What finally caught Kumajiro's attention was birdsong. _Oh, good, I was getting hungry. _As the song swelled, however, he realized that this wasn't the kind of bird that made a good snack. The song was too eerie and unnatural. It made his fur stand on end just listening to it. Just as it reached a pitch that made it feel like his ribs were vibrating, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar. A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its weird music to the vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock's and gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle. Definitely not a snack, then. The bird flew straight at the lightning-marked one and dropped whatever it had been carrying at his feet, then landed on his shoulder. It stopped singing and merely glared at the _thing_.

"That's a phoenix…" said the _thing _and What's-his-name at the same time. They both looked at each other in surprise and disgust, apparently both shocked and appalled that they'd thought the same thing.

"_Fawkes_?" breathed the lightning-marked one.

"And _that-_" said the _thing_, now eyeing the ragged thing that the firebird had dropped. "That's the old school Sorting Hat." Kumajiro had no idea what that meant. It just looked like a ratty old hat. It didn't seem like it would be much help. The _thing _apparently had similar thoughts, laughing. "This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?" Then he started being boring again and Kumajiro went back to trying to warm up the little red-furred one.

It didn't take nearly as long as last time for something interesting to happen, unfortunately. Very, very unfortunately.

**A/N: Sorry this took longer than expected. Rather than write like I should have, I spent yesterday listening to dramatic readings of really bad fanfiction. I'm sorry. I could claim I was doing research on how not to write fanfic, but I wasn't. It was just really funny. And technically Harry won the poll, but as I thought about it I really liked the idea of doing the chapter from Kuma's POV, and we already have Harry's from the book, so yeah. And now for Q&A! To RussianMochi: Huh. Interesting thought. She would know everything going on... Would she be the nations' great-great-great-lots-of-greats-grandmother, then? Well, Poland would probably like phoenixes. "OMG you are, like, so totally bright and colourful and cute!" Feel free to use the names! Pretty much the only one I didn't steal from other fics was Erin, so it's not like you really need to ask permission for most of them. To Berlin: Yay, you're back! I was wondering where you'd gone. Bringing in 2p's seems like a lot of hassle, but I might surprise myself later, who knows. Gelato, hot dogs, noon, and symmetry. I really like symmetry. A lot of times if I do something with one hand I'll do it with the other because I feel like they need to be balanced. To Legend of Zelda Fangirl: He'd probably use Gilbird, and I got no idea what the letter would be about. Maple syrup, maybe? I probably relate with Hermione for Harry Potter and... uh... Canada for Hetalia, I guess? We'll see what nickname America comes up with when we get there. To Marzue: I think that's the first bit of criticism this fic has received! Yay! But, yeah, writing Voldemort is hard. He's just so absolutely full of himself, and not in an awesome Prussian way. To SilentMoonLace13: OMNOMNOMNOMNOM! Oh, God... um... the power to fix every problem in the universe ever? That seems like a good power to create. To SoulxMakaLover37: I'd run to Hungary and have her protect me with her mighty skillet. Yes, yes they are. To Random Qustion: Blue. The gargantuan Author's Notes seem to have returned... ah, well. Pages Left: 17. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada, Harry and Kumajiro fight the Basilisk. See you all next time!**


	42. Chapter 41

**CHAPTER 41: THE FINAL BOSS**

Canada started mentally preparing himself for a fight when Riddle let out a rasping, hissing noise he had come to recognize as Parseltongue. It seemed he was summoning the Basilisk. _Okay… how am I going to fight this thing? I've still got my wand, but unless a Disarming spell can get rid of its fangs, it's not going to be much help. Kumajiro's got claws, at least, but he's so little. I've got no idea how thick that thing's scales are. Would he be able to pierce them? Fawkes has talons and can fly, maybe he can help. And I may not be at America's level, but I'm pretty strong. I could probably do some damage with just my bare hands. But Harry's completely helpless. I'll need to make sure he's safe. And how does the whole death-glare thing work? If I just avoid looking the Basilisk in the eye, will I be okay?_

As the statue of Slytherin's mouth opened and something moved within it, Canada pushed Harry behind him. "Harry, get out of here," he ordered. "I can deal with this, eh."

"What? No!" Harry's voice was shaking as he spoke, but that didn't belie the determination in it. "I'm not going to leave you and Ginny!" Still, despite his brave words, he was obviously scared. Truth be told, so was Canada. Throughout all their adventures up to this point, Canada had never felt he was really in danger. His friends had been in danger, and he'd been worried sick and frightened about them, but it had always been _them _in danger, not him. This time was different. If he couldn't defeat this Basilisk and save Harry, he would be trapped in an underground chamber nobody could reach with a sociopath intent on learning about his immortality through any means necessary. And the Basilisk itself could trap him in a prison of nothingness every time it looked at him.

Canada and Harry backed away from the statue until their backs hit the Chamber wall, eyes squeezed shut. Canada grabbed Harry's hand. They'd probably have to start running soon, and he didn't want to lose track of him. Plus, it was good to have physical evidence that he wasn't alone. Canada felt a breath of wind on his cheek and guessed that Fawkes had taken leave of his perch on Harry's shoulder.

Something huge hit the floor of the chamber, something huge enough to make the ground shudder. It seemed the Basilisk had made its way out of the statue's mouth. Canada could hear its scales hissing against the stone floor as it uncoiled itself. Then Riddle let out another hiss, and Canada guessed it was along the lines of 'kill him'. He could hear the snake slither across the floor towards them. He and Canada started running at the same time, eyes still shut, free arms stretched out to feel anything they might crash into. _I can't even imagine how stupid we look right now. If we die at this moment, it's not going to be very dignified. _ Riddle seemed to have the same thought, laughing at them with that cold, villainous cackle.

Harry tripped and fell to the ground, nearly taking Canada down with him. As it was the nation ended up falling to one knee. Judging from the sounds nearby, the Basilisk was only feet away from them. He desperately tried to pull Harry to his feet, but he wasn't fast enough. There was a loud, explosive spitting sound right above them and Harry was knocked out of Canada's grasp. For a moment he feared the worst, but then he heard a gasp of pain and the thump of something fleshy hitting something hard. Then there was more mad hissing, and the sound of something thrashing wildly off the pillars. Despite himself, Canada opened his eyes to the tiniest of slits to see what was happening.

The Basilisk wasn't facing them, thankfully, so Canada gave it as good a look as possible through his eyelashes. It was bright green and thick as a fairly old tree trunk, and currently its upper body was raised off the floor, head weaving between the pillars. Then he noticed Fawkes soaring around its head, and understood the sounds he'd been hearing. The Basilisk was snapping at the phoenix like a dog snapping at a ball held just out of reach. Not the most noble of comparisons for the King of Serpents, but it sufficed. Then Fawkes attacked, sharp golden beak disappearing from sight and a sudden shower of dark blood spattering the floor. The snake's tail thrashed, just barely missing Canada, and before he could shut his eyes it turned around. He looked it straight in the eyes and, to his immense relief, didn't sink into nothingness. Fawkes seemed to have gouged its eyes out. The prospect of Canada, Harry and Ginny getting out of here alive was suddenly far more plausible.

After a quick glance at Harry to make sure he was still alive (he was), Canada charged at the Basilisk. Kumajaki, who up until this point had probably been running in circles with his eyes closed, did the same. Canada didn't really have a plan beyond 'hit it and avoid getting bitten'. America would be proud. While Riddle hissed instructions at his monster, Canada reached it and punched it as hard as he could. He was pleased to feel something crack beneath his fist, and the Basilisk's agonized spitting increased. Kumahero seemed to be doing some damage, too, his claws managing to pierce the snake's scales and draw blood.

Canada thought he heard Harry muttering something, but couldn't quite decipher it. He was quickly distracted by the Basilisk's tail swinging at him, which he barely managed to duck. Once he didn't seem in immediate danger (any more than he already was, anyway) he went for a different tactic. He wrapped his arms as far around the snake's body as he could and began to squeeze. This time he could actually hear bones crack. The Basilisk's spitting became almost ear-splitting and it turned its head to lunge at Canada.

The nation dived out of the way quickly, but not quickly enough. One of the serpent's fangs grazed his left ankle, and he knew immediately that his hopes of defeating it had gone down drastically. He'd read that Basilisk venom was one of the most destructive substances on Earth, and he immediately knew why. As a nation, he had a high resistance, if not full immunity, to poisons. It stung, but it would only slow him down at most. This time, though, he got the feeling he was getting full blast. White-hot pain spread slowly but steadily from his ankle. He tried to get away from the snake, but his left leg crumpled beneath him and he fell to the floor, forcing him to crawl. He looked over at Harry and saw him looking back at him, his expression one of horror. _Wait, is that a sword? Where did he get a sword?! Maybe he can kill it on his own… _Canada's vision seemed to be growing fuzzy around the edges.

He became aware of Kumakuro at his side, licking at the wound. "Who are you?" he asked between licks, his voice shaking.

"I'm… sorry…" Canada whispered. His sight was definitely fading, but he was still able to witness Harry facing off against the Basilisk. "Go… help Harry…" The bear looked at him with those huge black eyes. If bears cried when they were emotional, he got the feeling Kuma would have been fighting back tears. As it was, the bear simply nodded, touched his nose to Canada's hair, and charged at the Basilisk with the mightiest roar he could muster.

Canada watched the rest of the fight in silence, focusing on staying awake even as the Chamber became blurrier and blurrier. Twice Harry dodged the Basilisk's lunges, probably helped by Kuma clawing at its side. But then it swept its tail and sent the bear crashing into a wall before lunging once again. Finally it seemed the snake's aim was true, and Canada saw Harry stab his mysteriously acquired sword into the roof of its mouth. He would have cheered if he had the energy. Any jubilation vanished when the Basilisk keeled over and revealed one of its fangs buried in Harry's arm. Canada crawled over to him as the boy slid down the wall.

Harry pulled the fang out, but if just a graze was enough to damage Canada this much, there wasn't any hope for the human. The nation managed to pull himself up into a sitting position against the wall next to Harry. "Well… we won, eh…" he murmured, the words coming out much less clear than he'd intended.

"Yeah… you were brilliant, Matthew…" said Harry thickly. Fawkes the phoenix landed next to them. "You were, too, Fawkes…" Harry was obviously fading fast. His head lolled onto Canada's shoulder, and his breathing was haggard.

It seemed Riddle wasn't content to let them die in peace. "I am disappointed, Matthew Jones," he said, standing in front of them. "I thought you held the secret to immortality… And now you're as good as dead. Even Dumbledore's bird knows it. Do you see what he's doing? He's crying."

Canada blinked and looked at Fawkes. Blurry as his vision was, it was clear that thick, pearly tears were trickling down its glossy feathers. _Phoenix tears… _Canada's heart leapt. _ Phoenix tears! _The bird lowered its head towards his ankle, but he pulled it away. "No… Harry first," he muttered. The bird looked at him for a moment, then nodded its head in understanding and went over to Harry.

Riddle didn't seem to hear or comprehend what was happening. "I'm going to sit here and watch you die, Harry Potter, Matthew Jones. Take your time. I'm in no hurry." All the colour in the Chamber seemed to be fading, and Canada wished that Riddle would just _stop. Talking. _But the universe hated him, so the memory continued, "So ends the famous Harry Potter. Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, unable to save his friend, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You'll be back with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Harry… She bought you twelve years of borrowed time… but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must." Canada dimly felt Harry lift his head from his shoulder and a light weight on his ankle. It seemed Fawkes had finished his work on Harry and it was now Canada's turn. _Good. I don't want to give this guy the satisfaction of seeing me like this any longer than necessary._

The phoenix's tears worked blessedly quickly. The pain faded, and Canada's sight began returning. He felt completely back to normal by the time Riddle finally realized what had happened. "Get away, bird. Get away from them. I said, _get away!_" He used Harry's wand to cast some kind of spell to send Fawkes flying away. "Phoenix tears… Of course… healing powers… I forgot…" Canada felt far too happy that even with Basilisk venom pounding through his veins he seemed more knowledgeable than Riddle. The memory turned his attention back to the two of them. "But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter… you and me… and then I can get some answers out of the other one…" He raised the wand. Canada tensed, preparing to launch himself at Riddle, but doubting he'd be fast enough to save Harry.

Luckily, Kumacocoa chose this moment to return to the action, dropping something into Canada's lap – _the diary. _For a split second, all three of them stared at it. Then Harry grabbed the diary in one hand and the Basilisk fang he'd pulled out of his arm in the other and brought them together.

There was along, piercing, _satisfying _scream. Ink spurted from the diary like blood. Riddle writhed, twisted, screamed and flailed in a way that almost made the last few hours worth it. And then he was gone. Harry's wand fell to the floor with a clatter and there was silence, except for the sound of ink still dripping from the diary. It seemed the Basilisk venom had burned clean through it.

Canada took the diary from Harry's loose grip without protest and ripped it in half. Noticing Harry's confused look, he shrugged and said, "That guy really bugged me, eh."

**A/N: And the climax is finished! Now we've just got the denoument left and I'll be FINISHED! Then five more books, with four of them being over twice the length of this one... Oh, boy. I NEED ENCOURAGEMENT HUGS \(^-^)/ Okay, now Q&A. To SoulxMakaLover37: I can't even imagine what Umbridge's reaction to getting hit with yaoi would be, so I'll go with that. Down with sense! To TheChibitalian: 1) I had to google what jumpstyle was, and it looks exhausting. I don't like anything that requires vigorous jumping. 2) Well, the only one of those I've actually played is Skyrim, so I guess I'll go with that. 3) America only gives nicknames to teachers he doesn't like, and I think he'll like Lupin, so no nickname, sadly. To Marzue: The main one I listened to was a playlist of manwithoutabody reading Forbiden Fruit: The Tempation of Edward Cullen. The fic is rated M, and with good reason, so I wouldn't suggest it if you're uncomfortable with that kind of stuff, but if you are it will make you laugh at things that shouldn't be laughed at. And you should feel honoured. It's important for an aspiring writer to learn how to take criticism. To 95Jezzica: Yay, you're back too! I think they'll just try to help him, for reasons that are possibly spoilery. To RussianMochi: I mostly just watch the English Dub, too. And it's definitely an interesting idea. Poland has a phoenix in his coat of arms? How fitting. I'd have to check if he has an official national animal, but I think I've just figured out what his Patronus would be. Thank you all for being wonderful! Pages Left: 13. NEXT CHAPTER: America and friends make it out of the Chamber. See you all next time!**


	43. Chapter 42

**CHAPTER 42: ENGLAND EXPLAINS IT ALL**

As he and Ron shifted the rock, America grew more and more frustrated. He could have just punched them all out of the way within a minute, but doing that would probably bring the whole ceiling down on them. Plus it would be really suspicious. So he ended up shifting rocks at what felt like a glacial pace, while Harry and Kumawhatever saved Canada and Ginny on their own. Even convincing the amnesiac Glinda that his name was actually Glinda the Sparkly Wizard provided only a short reprieve from his festering rage.

Finally, after what felt like far too long, they managed to make a gap just large enough for a twelve-year-old to crawl through. America immediately began to do so. "Alfred, what are you doing?!" asked Ron.

"I'm going to be the hero!" America declared. "HOLD ON, MATT, I'M COMIN' FOR YA!" And so the hero charged blindly into the villain's lair. Or attempted to, anyway. He charged for about a minute before crashing into something.

"Sorry," the something gasped as it fell to the ground. America nearly ignored whatever he'd knocked over to keep going, but luckily some semblance of common sense made him look at it. He froze mid-step when he realized who it was.

"MATTIE!" America didn't wait for Canada to get up, instead diving at him and giving him the biggest hug he possibly could right there on the ground. _He's alive… thank God, he's alive! _He couldn't remember ever feeling this happy and relieved in recent memory. He probably had been, and in about an hour he'd think of one so obvious he'd slap himself on the forehead for forgetting it, but nothing came to mind at that moment. He tried to put how he was feeling into words, but it came out as inarticulate yelling.

"Alfred?" America looked up to see that Harry was there, too, along with Ginny Weasley and Kumawhatever. "Er, I think you're suffocating Matthew."

"Oh. Right. Oops." America released Canada and stood up, helping his brother to his feet. "Sorry about that. I'm just so stoked you dudes are all right!" He gave all of them a good look. Ginny was pale and crying, Harry's robes were soaked in blood, and Canada seemed to be having trouble breathing (possibly from the hug), but they were all definitely alive. And… "Wait a minute, Harry, how did you sneak a sword in here without us noticing? And where did that bird come from?!"

"It's a long story," said Harry. "I'll explain once we get out of here."

America pouted at him. "Oh, fiiiine." He perked up again and grabbed Canada by the arm. "C'mon, dudes, let's go, then!" It wasn't long before the sound of shifting rock could be heard again. _What, is he still moving them? The hole doesn't have to be that big! _"YO, RON, I FOUND THEM!" America yelled. He heard Ron give out a strangled cheer and they turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the gap he'd made slightly wider.

"_Ginny!_" he thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull her through first. "You're alive! I don't believe it! What happened?" He tried to hug her but Ginny held him off, sobbing. "But you're okay, Ginny. It's over now, it's – where did that bird come from?"

America rolled his eyes as he helped push Canada through next. "Harry says he'll explain it later. Along with the sword."

"He's got a sword?!" Ron peeked through the gap to look at it. "Yeah, that's gonna need some explaining, mate." He looked at Canada. "Oh, and it's nice to see you're okay, Matthew."

Canada smiled. "It's nice to _be _okay, eh."

America, Harry and Kumawhatever all climbed through as well. "Where's Lockhart?" asked Harry.

America chuckled. "Oh, man, you've gotta see this." Ron chuckled as well and the two of them led the others up the tunnel towards the pipe. Glinda the Sparkly Wizard was sitting there, humming placidly to himself.

"His memory's gone," said Ron. "The memory charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He's a danger to himself."

"Oh, he's got an idea of who he is," said America. He addressed Glinda. "What's your name, dude?"

"Glinda the Sparkly Wizard!" the professor replied cheerfully. America and Ron both fell into giggling fits. Canada and Harry looked caught between joining in and lecturing them.

Once they'd calmed down, Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe. "Have you thought how we're going to get back up this?" he said.

America glanced at Ron. "Uh, I didn't. Did you?" Ron shook his head. "Oh. Crap." The fiery bird thingy swooped past them and fluttered in front of them, beady eyes bright in the dark. It was waving its long golden tail feathers at them. "Uh… is it shaking its ass at us?"

"He looks like he wants us to grab hold…" said Ron, looking as perplexed as the rest of them. "But we're all much too heavy for a bird to pull up there."

"Fawkes isn't an ordinary bird," said Harry. He turned quickly to the others and organized them into a line of hand-holding. He tucked the sword and – wait, did he have the Sorting Hat, too? What the hell was going on here?! Anyways, however he obtained them, he tucked them into his belt, Ron took hold of the back of his robes, and Harry reached out and took hold of Fawkes' tail feathers. Suddenly America felt lighter than he ever had before. Well, maybe except that time he swallowed all that helium by mistake. Boy did that not end pretty. He didn't have much time to reflect on it, because a second later they were all flying up through the pipe.

Soon enough they were all hitting the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's room. As they all got up and dusted themselves off, the sink that hid the pipe slid back into place. Myrtle was goggling at them. "AHHHH GHOST MATTIE SAVE MEEEEEE!"

By the time America had managed to calm himself down, Fawkes had led them all to Professor McGonagall's office. He barely had time to wonder what lay within before Harry knocked and pushed the door open. For a moment, there was absolute silence and America realized how odd they must look, covered in muck and slime and (in Harry's case) blood. Then there were two screams.

"_Ginny!_"

"_Matthew!_"

It had been Mrs. Weasley and England, respectively. Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire, leapt to her feet and, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, flung herself on her daughter. England, who had been staring at the wall, rushed over to Canada and began checking him over for injuries. "Are you all right?' he asked. "Are you hurt? What happened? Do you have any idea how worried I was? I nearly had a heart attack when Alfred sent me the letter! How could you do something so stupid?!" It was amazing how quickly he could go from worried sick to spitting fury.

"Hey, you don't even know what happened, how do you know he did something stupid?" said America.

"It ended with him getting dragged to the Chamber of Secrets, it couldn't have been anything smart," snapped England. He took a step back from Canada, and his anger seemed to dissipate at least somewhat. "Well, you seem to be all right. I don't know how you managed it, but there you are."

Reassured that England had calmed down, America actually looked at the rest of the room. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming with Fawkes settled on his shoulder, next to Professor McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest. Mrs. Weasley had now started hugging Ron and Harry. "You saved her! You saved her! _How _did you do it?"

"I think we'd all like to know that," said Professor McGonagall weakly. Mrs. Weasley released Harry, who hesitated for a moment before walking over to the desk and laying upon it the Sorting Hat, the sword and what remained of – wait, when did he get the evil diary thing? Then he started explaining things.

He started with stuff America already knew – the weird voice Harry had heard, the spider misadventure, how they figured out it was a Basilisk and where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was… America sort of tuned it out. His attention only returned when Professor McGonagall said, "Very well, so you found out where the entrance was – breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add – but how on _earth _did you all get out of there alive, Potter?"

America actually paid attention this time, listening with rapt attention as Harry spoke of Fawkes' timely arrival and the Sorting Hat giving him the sword. Then he faltered and looked first at Ginny, then at Dumbledore. "What interests _me _most," said the headmaster gently. "Is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania." While Mrs. Weasley expressed disbelief, America glanced at England and could almost see him making a mental note to have a word with Albania.

"It was this diary," said Harry, picking it up the bisected book and showing it to Dumbledore. "Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen."

Alfred grinned triumphantly. "See? I _told _you that book was evil, dude! The hero is always right!"

"Alfred," said England warningly.

"Fine, fine, shutting up now. Jerk," he added under his breath. England glared at him but didn't say anything else.

There was more talking, about Tom Riddle and how he grew up to become Moldyshorts and how Ginny was stupid for trusting his diary. Then Ginny was sent to the hospital wing, along with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "You know, Minerva," said Professor Dumbledore thoughtfully once they were gone. "I think all this merits a good _feast. _Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?"

"Right," said Professor McGonagall crisply, moving to the door. "I'll leave you to deal with Potter, Weasley and Jones, shall I?"

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. She left, and America got a funny sinking feeling that his heroics wouldn't be as greatly rewarded as he'd been hoping.

He was therefore surprised when England put a hand on his shoulder, along with Canada's, and said, "We'll just go wait outside, then. We have a lot to discuss."

Dumbledore nodded to him, eyes twinkling. "Of course, Arthur. Take all the time you need."

America was just relieved to be avoiding whatever punishment Dumbledore was surely doling out, and let England drag him and Canada down the hall and into an empty classroom without complaint. After casting some sort of spell on the door the older nation turned to look at Canada. "All right, Canada, how did you end up down there?"

Canada seemed surprised to be called by his nation name. "Eh, what do you mean, England?"

England rubbed his forehead. "I'm not in the mood for games right now. Just tell me why Riddle saw fit to drag you down into the Chamber of Secrets."

"Yeah, bro, I was wondering that, too," said America.

Canada stroked Kumawhatever's fur for a few moments, staring mutely and miserably at his feet. Eventually he took a deep breath, sat down in a chair, and started talking. "I'd better tell you the whole story. I was in class this morning, and I heard someone in the hallway, eh. I thought it was odd, so I snuck out and saw it was Ginny. She was acting oddly, so I followed her all the way to the corridor where the first attack happened. Then she noticed me, and I guess she must have summoned the Basilisk, and then I…" His voice cracked and he closed his eyes, apparently unwilling to continue.

"You looked it in the eyes," said England. Canada nodded, lips still pressed firmly together. England went over to sit next to him and somewhat awkwardly put a hand on his shoulder. "I… really don't know what to say. Was that your first time… you know…"

"Dying?"

America jumped at the word coming out of Canada's mouth. "Wha- dying?! What are you talking about?! Y-you mean you just got really hurt or something, right?"

England sighed, and explained, "No, he doesn't. In the magical world, there are many things that instantly kill. The Basilisk's stare is one of them. When a nation encounters such a thing, they die. It's only for a few moments at most, but it's… awful." He shuddered. "I don't know exactly how it works – nobody's exactly eager to test it thoroughly – but I suppose there needs to be some sort of balance. A life for a life. So in order for the nation to come back, one of their citizens dies in their place."

Canada gasped. "What?! You mean one of my people is…"

England nodded. "Yes. You probably had some sort of vision of their final moments before you woke up." After a few moments of Canada staring into the distance with a horrified expression, England prompted, "So, you woke up, and then…?"

Canada jerked back to attention. "What? Oh, right. Well, I woke up, and then Ginny dragged me into the Chamber of Secrets. After a few minutes I guess Riddle must have stopped possessing her, eh, because she went back to normal and started crying and told me about the diary. Then Riddle must have started draining her life force, because she passed out, and he appeared. He wanted to know how I'd survived the Basilisk's stare. I didn't tell him, of course," he added hastily. "He didn't like that. He said he'd get the answer out of me once he was alive again. Luckily, he never got the chance."

England was silent for a few moments, eyebrows drawn together thoughtfully. Then he said, "Hopefully the real You-Know-Who is unaware of what his… 'memory' was up to. If he had some sort of psychic connection to it and saw and heard everything it did, then the safety of nations everywhere could be compromised. I'll have to speak to Albus about that." He stood up. "Well, thank you for answering my question, Canada. Let's see whether Dumbledore is done rewarding your friends."

America frowned. "Huh? Reward? Whatchu talkin' 'bout, England?"

England smirked. "What, you didn't think he was going to punish you for saving the school, did you?"

**A/N: Long chapter today, but I didn't feel like them all just getting out of the chamber was enough for a chapter, so ta-da! HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Thanks for all the encouragement hugs. Now for Q&A! To 95Jezzica: I dunno if I'll add those parts. I'm pretty much working solely from the books, but maybe I'll have England get an injury from it or something. To Marzue: Ah, yes, My Immortal... I'm currently going through a playlist of that, but it's so awful even a good funny dramatic reading can only be taken in small doses. Thanks for the compliment! Of course, if I actually do receive major criticism I'll probably be pretty discouraged, but in theory it would be a good thing! To freiejj: I only started getting into Hetalia last year, too! And I feel so honored. To SoulxMakaLover37: Now I kind of want to have Hungary show up in book 5 to hit Umbridge with a frying pan and shock her with her... er... preferences. To MeoTheRandom: I think you're right. No nation, not even Canada, has a completely pure and nice history. To Cindar: I might include a reference or two. We'll see. To TheChibitalian: I tried to Google it, but my internet's being stupid. So I'll say 30 kilograms per minute as a random guess. To RussianMochi: I think I've figured out the answer to the first question, but I don't want to give spoilers. But I can say that Umbridge is going to notice America's accelerated healing. Don't worry, I don't think you're annoying or stupid. Thanks for sticking around! Pages Left (after skipping things): 2. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada's thoughts on the end of another school year. See you all next time!**


	44. Chapter 43

**CHAPTER 43: KEEP IN TOUCH**

Canada didn't consider himself an expert on feasts at Hogwarts, but from what little experience he had he would hazard the guess that this one was strange. It was like a huge pajama party, since everyone had probably been in bed when they were summoned, and it lasted all night. Other strange but wonderful things happened throughout. Right off the bat, just as people were still filing into the Great Hall, they all bore witness to the sight of England being chased out of the castle by Peeves, who was singing a song and throwing things at him. They only heard a snippet of what he was singing, but considering how it used terms like 'Artie the fartie' and 'heart black and twisted as licorice', it probably would have been amusing.

Another surprising thing was everyone at the Hufflepuff table noticing Canada, telling him how worried they'd been and how happy they were that he was okay. Hannah had hugged him for a solid ten seconds. Of course everyone wanted to know what had happened to him, so he told them a slightly censored version (he didn't look the Basilisk in the eye, his fight against it was rather more one-sided favouring the giant snake, etc.). Everyone was shocked and impressed, and he was told that he'd won Hufflepuff two hundred points for his 'resolve in the face of danger'. No wonder everyone was paying attention to him.

The next strange thing was all of the formerly Petrified victims running into the Great Hall, hale and healthy one again, to great applause and cheering. After welcoming back Justin (which he felt a bit awkward about, since they didn't know each other all that well), Canada ran over to the Gryffindor table to welcome back Hermione. She was elated that they'd managed to solved the case without her, and Canada pointed out that if she hadn't figured out it was a Basilisk, he and Ginny would probably still be down in the Chamber. Then everyone freaked out at him and told him not to say things like that. Obviously none of them wanted to think about what might have happened if they hadn't been able to mount their rescue mission. Canada could understand, because frankly he wanted to think about it even less. He was extremely thankful he hadn't had to find out just how 'persuasive' You-Know-Who could be.

Then, at about half past three, Hagrid turned up. He looked rather pale and thinner than usual (though he was still about twice the width of a normal man), but his genuine smile was enough to lay any worries Canada had about him to rest. He was so happy to see Hagrid back he couldn't even be mad at him about the whole 'sending children to a colony of giant man-eating spiders' thing.

Then the six hundred points America, Harry and Ron earned for Gryffindor won them the House Cup yet again. Canada' two hundred for Hufflepuff put them in second place, which was one place better than last year. If this trend continued, they might actually win next year! Then Professor McGonagall stood up and announced that exams had been cancelled as a school treat. There was a great, synchronized sigh of relief amongst the students. Canada joined in. Even with all the studying he'd done, he doubted he would have done very well. The professors might just be realizing that if they _did _do exams this year, they would have to significantly lower their standards if they wanted most of their students to pass. Then Dumbledore announced that Professor Lockhart wouldn't be returning next year, owing to the whole memory loss thing and thinking his name was Glinda the Sparkly Wizard. Canada was pleased to see several teachers join in on the cheering.

After the feast, the rest of the summer term passed in what felt like a haze of blazing sunshine. Things at Hogwarts went pretty much back to normal, except people paid much less attention in class, Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons were cancelled due to lack of a professor, and Lucius Malfoy had been fired. Canada derived far too much joy from seeing his son wander through the halls looking much less sure of himself. On the other hand, Ginny was happier than ever, and always noticed Canada now.

Much, much too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Canada, America, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny got a compartment to themselves, and Fred and George somehow managed to squeeze their way in, too. They all made the most of their last few hours of legal use of magic. They played Exploding Snap, which America announced to be his new favourite card game ever, set off the very last of Fred and George's Filibuster Fireworks, which America also loved, and practiced disarming each other by magic, which Canada was very happy about because he managed to beat America for once. He'd been practicing on his own ever since the Duelling Club.

After some gossip about Percy's new girlfriend, they finally arrived at King's Cross. Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment. "This is called a telephone number," he told Ron, scribbling it down thrice, tearing the parchment in three and handing a piece to Canada, Ron and Hermione. "I told your Dad how to use a telephone last summer, he'll know. Call me at the Dursleys, OK? I can't stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to…"

"Oh, right, phone numbers! Dude, hold on!" America scrabbled in his bag and pulled out a stack of business cards, which he handed to the Golden Trio. "Okay, here's mine! Man, this is going to make talking _sooo _much easier, you have no idea!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "You have business cards?"

"What, don't you?" said America. Canada leaned over to Ron and read the card. _Alfred F. Jones, HERO! _He rolled his eyes. _Of course he'd do that…_

As they got off the train and joined the crowd thronging towards the enchanted barrier, Canada said, "Your Aunt and Uncle will be proud, eh? When they hear what you did this year?"

"Proud?" said Harry. "Are you mad? All those times I could've died, and I didn't manage it? They'll be furious…"

And so they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world, and both Canada and America began mentally preparing themselves for the switch from being young wizards to being powerful nations.

**A/N: IT'S DONE!ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN! *breathes sigh of relief* HUGS! \(^-^)/ I really don't know what else to say about this chapter. Now Q&A! To SoulxMakaLover37: No problem! It was a good idea. And MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! The first thing I would do is hug him and claim it's only so that I can stay warm. To Serebiiet: Interesting idea, but I'm pretty sure Voldemort has no idea what his Horcruxes are up to. He had no idea they were being destroyed, after all, and I don't want to ignore canon too much, so SORRY! :( To RussianMochi: Yup, that's what would've happened. England didn't want to doom one of his people when there was a chance the case could be solved without anyone getting killed. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed, favourited, or just read this thing. If it weren't for you, I probably wouldn't have made it this far. I'll be taking a short break before starting on Prisoner of Azkaban, but I'm really stoked about it. I think I've figured out America and Canada's Boggarts (you'll all probably be really disappointed) and classes, but I still need some help with memories for the Dementors, so leave suggestions in your reviews. Thank you all again, and I'll see you in Prisoner of Azkaban!**


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